Darkness and Dawn
Finding the Hope We'll Still Need After Advent is Over.
Hello readers!
Firstly, if you are new here, I want to extend a very warm welcome to you! I’m so glad to have your company. And if you’ve been here for a while, you know there’s always a warm welcome for you, too. I love your company and I’m so glad you’re still here.
Before we get into anything else, I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has supported me with Contemplating Christmas. To those of you who bought books for yourself, or to give away, who liked, commented and shared my posts on social media, endorsed my book, and who have sent me such encouraging feedback, I am deeply grateful. For a first-time, self-published book with no marketing budget, it has been way more successful and travelled a lot further than I could have imagined, and that is largely down to you. So thank you!
Would it be okay to ask you one more book-related favour? If you haven’t already, would you mind leaving me a review on Amazon? It can be as short as you like, but reviews help other people find the book and trust that it’s worth their while to buy it. I’d so appreciate it if you would do that for me.
As I sit here and write to you, we are in the middle of the three shortest days of the year. The Winter Solstice was yesterday, and the longest nights of the season are here. Long, dark nights feel appropriate right now. We are ravaged by war, hunger, poverty, and injustice everywhere we turn. We are beset by personal heartbreak and devastating tragedies. We are struggling with our mental and physical health, our exhaustion, our doubts and confusion.
Through Advent, we’ve been counting down to our Christmas celebrations, waiting for that special day to come. But in truth, after Christmas Day, we’ll still be waiting. We’ll be waiting for peace and justice on earth, for change in our lives and the lives of those we love. After Advent, we’ll still need to grieve our losses and cling onto hope.
Here is the sliver of hope that I’m holding onto today: even after the longest night in the year, the dawn still came this morning. Right now, my toes are being warmed by the rays of sun slanting through our windows. Sunlight is dancing across the water in our birdbath and playing on the leaves of our plants. It might not stay around for so long during the winter, but the light is still here. As John’s Gospel puts it, the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
In the meantime, I’m remembering that the darkness will not overcome me, either. I’m remembering that new life always begins in the dark. I’m learning to trust that the Spirit is at work even when I can’t see or feel what’s going on. I’m learning that when the darkness offers me the invitation of an early night or a quieter season, I can say yes, without guilt or fear that I’m not working hard enough. I can embrace the kind of rest that is only available to us in the dark.
So may you find a beautiful interplay between light and dark this season. May you know the gifts that are only found in the dark, and new life growing where you need it most. May you find glimmers of light and glimpses of hope to nourish and sustain you. May you find Jesus, light of the world, reflected in every fairy light and candle flame, every ordinary soap bubble that catches the light, and each glorious, starlit sky. And may you find the love of Immanuel, God with us, shining out to embrace you from every pair sparkling eyes you find yourself reflected in see this season.
Merry Christmas, dear readers!
With love,
Abby