Winter's 4 O'clock Hush

 

I'm going to make a statement here that I don't expect to be popular.

I actually like it this time of year when it starts to get dark around 4:30 or so.

Yeah, I know.  But I'm already the weird lady who loves early mornings, so I figure I don't have much to lose in the 'what people think of me' department, so hey. 

But it's true.  Along with very early in the morning, this is my favourite time of day in these weeks after Christmas.  For a few reasons.

One is that it's the part of the day that I call it quits on the 'have tos' part of my list.  Unless I happen to have an evening meeting (because, well, there are a lot of volunteer type folks who have day jobs, God bless 'em), I am pretty disciplined about not taking the work day past 4 p.m.  So the ritual of closing up shop and lowering the blinds to signal the end of day provides that sense of moving into a more relaxed state of being, ready to start supper preparations and welcome the quieter activities of evening.  

Now, of course this would be true any time of the year.  But right now, this close to solstice, when 4:00 p.m. also begins the gradual-fade-to-black of the sky, there is a corelated sense of closing in and hunkering down, of being all safe and sound in that sacred place called home.  As if the early fade of light wraps around the house and snugs us in.

And also, right now, this close to Christmas, there are still lights.  And anyways, even much beyond Christmas, into the deeper winter, I keep the lights.  Because they are gentle against the harshness of the weather outside, holding their own and being defiantly delicate, and that making a difference somehow.

So here I should say that, yes, I realize my stage of life and the fact that I am not raising children, and not coming home from work, or dealing with a commute, or any of the other rougher ways a work day can end when you're in a different iteration of family, greatly contributes to how I feel about 4 o'clock now.  I remember those days.  When the kids were young enough and naps were being discarded, and the pre-supper blood sugar drops were catastrophic, we called this 'the arsenic hour.'  So, there's that.

I should also say that I get the way the lesser light brings on the drearies, generally speaking.  Just checked my weather ap and I don't think there's one of those sunshiney icons until Monday!  Yikes.  I'll notice that for sure.

But at 4 p.m. or so, it doesn't seem to matter as much.  Because the work day is done, and I've lowered the blinds to close out the rest of the crazy world for a while.  I can begin the gradual winddown towards a hushed space of cozy love that will soon enough lead me to the blessed rest of sleep.  

"In peace I will lie down and sleep,

for you alone, LORD, make me dwell in safety."

Psalm 4:8

Receiving and accepting this sacred space of early winter evenings has become something of a spiritual practice for me over the past few years.  Yes it's darker, and yes, let's not neglect our Vitamin D.  But giving way to the tender ministrations this time of year, this time of day offers, has increasingly brought good gifts of insight, and reflection, and simple joy, and deep, sustaining contentment.

I write these things wishing it was something I could collect in a mason jar, all sparkling softly and smelling like peace.  I wish I could hand it out to whoever needs it, whoever needs to be reminded that the dark days of winter remind us that it's good to hunker down in our souls sometimes, and be quiet in the waiting of it.  Because it is a crazy world out there.  Cold and sloppy.  

So bring on the hush of 4 o'clock, and let the evening begin.

Light for the Journey

I've spent a bit more time than usual this morning getting the lighting right.

Normally just lifting the blinds and turning on the two lamps at the far end of the room is enough to balance out the lamp on my desk and the candle behind me on the mantle. I don't actually like working in harsh, bright lights anyways, so I'm okay with things being a little subdued.

But today it all just seems rather dull.

Probably doesn't help that the sun - wherever it is - didn't even rise until 7:50 this morning. We are heading into Winter Solstice after all, just two days away from the longest night of the year.

But also, there's the cloud cover. And yes - can I just say this? - I'm missing the goodness of the sunshine over the hills at Hot Springs.

Yay for an icing-sugar scattering of snow, though! Nothing to shovel here. Just a little nod to a whitish Christmas, for now.

And yay for the way the season has begun to settle some. For me at least. What I needed from December is beginning to manifest in things like mornings with the time and space to fiddle with the lighting, and to stop and be grateful for bright souls in my life.

That's what I've been thinking about as I looked for more candles and flipped a few switches. About all the ways light happens in life, especially when we hold up lights for each other. Specifically, all the ways people held up lights for me this year.

I'm not doing Christmas cards this year (something I'll stop apologizing for soon), but it strikes me that in some ways that tradition is also an opportunity to say thank you.

So, in place of writing it out and putting it in an envelope, and either handing it to you when I see you, or putting it in the mailbox...

Right here, on this really dull morning, I just want to express all the immense gratitude I have for all the bright lights in my life.

Every generous donation to matters dear to my heart, every word of encouragement, every message of love, every reorientation towards hope, every time you directed my eyes upward, every time you listened without judgement, every moment of your undivided attention, every bit of loving feedback and correction on sermons or writings or the ways I am conducting myself in community, every prayer lifted on my behalf....

All of that shines bright to light the journey for me.

So thank you.

And because of you, a dark day doesn't have to be a dark day, if you get what I mean.

Jesus said He was the light of the world. (John 8:12)
He also called us to be lights in this world. (Matthew 5:14-16).

So given Christmas is so close to the darkest day...
And given Christmas marks the birth of the Light...
Maybe it only makes sense that we look for ways shine all the brighter in each other's lives.
Right now, for the darker days.
And all year for all the days of the journey.

Thank you.
I mean it.
I could not have done this year without you.