The Sun Will Rise

Advent thoughts approaching solstice

First, a disclaimer: this is a letter to myself as much as it is a note for you. In this season of the year, with the struggles of our world, and a relapse of frustrating and limiting symptoms in my body, I’m not being preachy. Rather, I’m reminding myself as much as anyone else, a truth a friend once told me. I don’t know where he heard it, or if it came from his own heart, but I have never forgotten it:

“Hope can handle the darkness, but evil will never survive the light.”

---

I cling to the promise of golden light. The kind that immerses you in complete warmth and bathes you to your very bones- floods you to the depths of your soul- in peace. The sort of light that reaches deep into the darkness and washes it away. That has no source in the sun or moon- but comes from love itself. It is the light of Shalom. I once had the briefest glimpse of this— it felt as if I were part of the light- drenched in complete tranquility. I will ache for that light for the remainder of my living days.

“Though I have fallen, I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light.” -Micah 7:8

As winter solstice in the northern hemisphere approaches, our nights are long, dark, and cold…but the stars! They are beautiful! This is the season of crystal-clear skies and glittering constellations. Orion hangs like a necklace and the Pleiades dance overhead. These are also the nights of Advent candles and Christmas lights in my family, and Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or Yule lights in others. We snuggle close to the woodstove and bask in its warm glow. Maybe they are poor substitutes for the glory that waits, but I love these lights all the same. They remind me how even tiny flickers can break up the darkness in beautiful ways.

This season reiterates the calling to love God and neighbor. I often worry that, given some of the challenges I face, I will never be enough to answer this call. I see how many people are hurting and how little I seem able to help. I see large-scale harm unfolding and feel helpless to stop it. Injustice grows alongside the darkness of greed and power-hungry predators. What good can I possibly do while I’m sitting here in this body? I can’t even drive myself to the grocery store to feed a hungry family.

So, I pray. Not beautiful words- more like names whispered in the dark in hopes they find their way to God.

I scribble notes to people that might need them.

I knit (weirdly shaped, often holey… but maybe holy, too?) wraps that I hope feel like hugs for hurting souls.

I shoot off texts full of (probably too much) dark humor.

I teach my sons to be encouragers and champions of kindness.

I love my husband, who does far more than one person ought. But all too often, I don’t cook dinner. So, there’s that.

Sometimes, when it all feels like far too much, I just sit in this dark place and do my best not to make it darker. A “first, do no harm,” sort of time.

I hope it is enough- that my little candle will light a corner. And that yours will, too. And that before we know it, the night will glow like the starry heavens with our love.

“…the rising sun will come to us from heaven to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace.” -Luke 1:78-79