It hits the middle of November. The daily loss of natural light from the sun slowly crushes my soul. I was about five, 70 years ago, when I first became aware of these annual cycles of long days to short ones, short nights to long ones. And no matter what I do, I suffer.
Winter Darkness
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Periodically, I toy with the idea of fleeing to someplace south of the equator for the months of November through February, as mid-February is the time I begin to feel human again, but it’s hardly a realistic proposition.
So, I turn on the lights, seek sunshine whenever I can find it, sleep a LOT, and ponder yet once more the connections between the winter solstice and the Christian celebration of the birth of Jesus.
I’ve known for a long time that the early church co-opted the winter solstice to take over what they saw as the pagan celebration of the fact that, as of December 22, the days will begin to get longer. It is indeed a time to celebrate: the sun will shine again. And, in Christian terms, what better time to celebrate the entrance of the Light to a dark and dangerous world, even if the timing could not possibly be accurate?
Of course, such timing is ridiculous for those who live near or below the equator. The conflation of Santa/snow/birth of Jesus makes it even more ludicrous. In these tropical areas where we’ve traveled this time of the year, I’ve seen displays of Christmas trees, branches heavy with mounds of artificial snow (remember, these areas have NEVER SEEN SNOW!), Santa Clauses on sleds and, in the inevitable nod to the religious underpinnings, multiple creche scenes, all inspired by seriously uninformed readings of the birth stories in Matthew and Luke. Really nuts.
I suppose people try to make sense of these displays, but the cultural disconnect boggles the mind. My depression deepens.
OK, I’m admitting it: this is not my favorite season of the year.
For now, I need to concentrate on mental/emotional/physical/spiritual survival. I look for things that give joy and, even more importantly, look for things that might give joy to others.
As I turn on my lights, I can make sure that charitable contributions go to those who need help with gas and electricity bills. As we shop for gifts, I can do so in ways that are ethically responsible and help provide meaningful employment. I allocate some of the gift-purchasing budget to offer something special to those left out of the economic flexibility I get to enjoy.
As I pull out some warm sweaters, I also donate excess good-quality cold-weather clothes to reputable resale shops.
As I count my blessings over our rich and meaningful family and friend connections, I also pray for and seek to offer any quiet comfort possible to those grieving family losses, which are always especially painful this time of the year.
Even so, even as I do all the right things, I still sense I am holding my breath until I can visibly see the lengthening days, the coming of spring and the new life that follows the necessary yearly death of darkness.
As a gardener, I embrace the necessity of death and decay. As an older woman whose own days to come are brief before their inevitable end, I rejoice that I had the privilege of giving life to others.
These thoughts help sustain me as I gaze out on this gloomy and heavy December day. More than anything, I know how fortunate I am that I will likely see yet another spring.
Yes, I need to savor the darkness to better celebrate the light. But I still have to remind myself to keep breathing.
Christy Thomas
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The Rev. Dr. Christy Thomas, a retired United Methodist clergywoman, describes herself as "writer, opinionated yet open-minded, seeker of truth and hope" on her Substack.