Christmas Light

Blackness bares down as the Solstice-dark of winter is felt everywhere. I hold a strand of garland lights half-burned out and somehow feel a kinship. Burned-out I feel, too. Burned out from a year of losses and crosses, of struggling to see hope in hard places. Of looking for the smallest glimmer of light when your heart feels like its light long went out. Like the now-dead bulbs in my hands, I need a replenishing supply. I need to find Grace in my soul-dark. 

Many people say the one thing about Arctic living in a place like Alaska is these dark, winter days. Somehow, deep in human bones, there's this longing for the light. And, when the daylight hours are short, there's this pining after the summer-sun. Like the heart needs a thaw and the penetration of the snowy cold isn't the only hard thing. It's like we feel the ache of winter deep inside. And unless one has spent a winter like this, it's hard to understand why we so gladly welcome Spring. 

From those who don't reside in Alaska, I often get questions about if the darkness bothers me. They are surprised when I say that I've never really struggled with it.  In fact, I actually like it. After all, this has been home all my life, and it's all I know. But now, after the year I've had, I'm seeing this comfortableness with the dark in a new way. A God-breathed way. I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps why I love the deepest part of winter is because that's when this place comes to light. When I feel myself come to light, come also to life. An awakening of the heart to joy.

Even the ancient promises foretold that a Light would break through. And, even though He came, those promises still hold true.

I look out my windows and can only see sun-glow. My house sits near a ridge, and it loses the direct sunlight for about two months at the darkest time of the year. The sun's arc is so low, it never makes it above the ridge during that time. So with short hours and no direct sun, I am forced to bring the light in where I can. The electric bill rises as the yard is lit with lights on trees, as the Christmas tree and winter village cast a color into my living room. Driving around the community, I notice that others always seem to do the same. 


The tower on the military base is lit like a Christmas tree. Lights on houses appear everywhere. Then there's the star on the mountains that's only turned on in late November. It stretches 300 feet across the sprawling Chugach mountains and has been a point of light in the dark days of winter since 1958 when an Army captain placed a modest, 15-foot wide star atop the then-missile guardhouse for Christmas. The star has been enlarged over the years since and can now be visibly seen from over 14 miles away. Not once has it gone out since that captain first turned it on. And the mountains on which it sits are to the East. 

And didn't the Light of the World first make his appearance in the darkness of the East also?

I don't think it was accidental that our Savior came to earth in the darkness of the night. Had He come in the daytime, would those shepherds have seen the glory of Heaven in such splendor? Just maybe the nighttime silhouetted the angel-announcement and made it somehow more powerful. And perhaps God knew the Christ had to arrive in the stillness of dark so we would truly see His meaning of Emmanuel - "God with us" - even in the most desperate and lonely places. By His being birthed in the quiet of sleeping Bethlehem, I'm led to believe that it greater emphasized the humility of the King of Kings. Of His lovingly identifying with our humanity and our need for soul-awakening. I feel like the darkness of this season adds to the holy. 

The Light is forever seeking dark places to make Himself known. He came in the silence of night while the city of David slept, and He continues to arrive in spaces bled of hope, in hearts longing for a Star to show them the way. 

It's only days now until Christmas. All light-strands shine happy-glow and proclaim peace, hope, joy. There is anticipation of celebrating the Light's coming. Solstice-dark is passing and, soon, the light will begin to increase once again. In a few, short weeks I will once more welcome the sun back into my house and Spring will seem a little closer. But until then, I bask in this holiday warmth as the darkness is pierced and my own soul feels ignited yet again. 

"Come, Lord, and turn all our darkness to day. Emmanuel, prepare Ye the way." 


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