{advent - week one} - Light Everywhere

It was early December when I slipped on my boots and coat and, camera in hand, stepped out into freshly fallen winter. The sun was masked behind a low, grey snow-filled sky but the day was brightly blanketed in white. Settling my camera strap around my neck I listened to the quiet scrunch of snow beneath my boots, looking back to see only my footprints on the sidewalk. Birds fluttered around a neighbour's feeder and a stray cat watched me with disgruntled disdain as I walked by.

December can be so dark. The days shorten and an uneasy anticipation settles on those of us who have to work to love winter; who have to expend energy to love Christmas. For years I would belligerently set up my tree in the hopes that Christmas spirit would find me, though it rarely did. I balked at gift buying and shopping malls and even family gatherings where I knew there would be reminder after reminder that I was childless. Again. Childless at Christmas. Again.

December quickly became that time of year where counting the losses - the lack - was incredibly easy. Perfect family? Nope. Traditions with kids? Nada. Sleigh rides and stockings and kid-trimmed trees and cookie-decorating and gingerbread-house-building? Zip. Zilch. Zero. And as soon as I had generated that list, any desire for chestnut-roasting, white Christmases or winter wonderlands, or (and maybe especially?) joy to the world flew out the window. Not happening.

That afternoon, however, as I set out to take some wintry pictures, I was simply on the hunt for light. My heart was hungry for the dance and play of light that a camera hungers to capture. I'm not sure I realized it then, but as I look over those pictures, I can see the deliberate capture of the elusive.

Advent is a time of lighting candles, of anticipation and hope. Advent, perhaps especially, is a deliberate glow of light in a dark, hungry world. Joy is coming. It's right there, on the horizon, waiting for us.

We know waiting. We know hope and anticipation and disappointment. We wander that circular road cycle after cycle... month after crushing month. Sometimes, we find a quiet reprieve and know it to be pure blessing. Other times we can barely lift our heads up over the fog of pain to believe that there can be hope.

But there is light everywhere. At Advent especially. In multi-coloured Christmas lights on houses and trees, in the white light of candles, the glisten of sun on snow, the faithful rise and setting of the sun in a winter sky. It's there and it's a gift.

Brene Brown (author of The Gifts of Imperfection) writes:

"Twinkle lights are the perfect metaphor for joy. Joy is not a constant. It comes to us in moments - often ordinary moments. Sometimes we miss out on the bursts of joy because we're too busy chasing down extraordinary moments. Other times we're so afraid of the dark we don't dare let ourselves enjoy the light... A joyful life is not a floodlight of joy. That would eventually become unbearable.

I believe a joyful life is made up of joyful moments gracefully strung together by trust, gratitude, and faith."

This December, let us find joy in the ordinary moments God's grace strings together in our lives. I know the appeal of the perfect 'everything' that every song and commercial tell you is essential for the 'perfect' Christmas. Let's not buy into it.. just this Advent. Even just today. Let's believe that there is more joy in the ordinary, the simple. Joy in the quiet twinkle of white lights, a walk in fresh snow, a cup of hot chocolate or quiet time spent with someone dear to you.

Advent is our reminder that light is everywhere. Joy is coming. It's right there, on the horizon, waiting for us.

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Thank you so much for joining us in this Advent series.
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