Let There Be Light
It’s almost time for one of my most anticipated days of the year, and no, it’s not Christmas, and it’s not my birthday (which is the 20th). It’s the winter solstice, on the 21st.
What I love most about it is simple and profound: from that day forward, the light begins to return.
I still find it funny that the solstice marks the beginning of winter. I don’t fully understand how those things are decided, and honestly, I’m okay with that. What I do understand is this: I am a big fan of the light.
Going for a walk, despite the cold and fog.
The last few weeks have been hard. The cold isn’t my friend, but it’s been the darkness of the heavy fog that really gets to me. The days feel short and heavy, and eventually when the sun has make an appearance, it’s often fleeting, a brief glow between clouds that disappears before you’ve had a chance to truly enjoy it.
One afternoon, driving home with my husband, the sun broke through for about twenty minutes, filling the car with warm golden light. It had faded by the time we got home, but I’m telling myself it was enough. Enough to lift my spirits. Enough to remind me why I hold on through this season.
The solstice represents hope in small increments. A promise that even when the days are dark and cold, change is already underway. Light doesn’t rush in all at once, it returns slowly, quietly, almost imperceptibly at first.
For me, this waiting season is also deeply spiritual. I believe that Jesus is the true Light, the kind of light that doesn’t fade with the season or disappear behind the clouds. Long before the days begin to lengthen, His light is already present, steady and faithful, even when I struggle to feel it. The returning sun at the solstice becomes a quiet echo of that greater truth: that hope has already entered the world, and darkness does not get the final word.
Working in a couple of my art journals at once!
Lights are the best part of tree decorations!
That idea finds its way into my artwork again and again. I’m drawn to layers, subtle shifts, and hidden details, the way light filters through leaves, the way a texture reveals itself only if you linger. My work often reflects this belief that healing and hope don’t arrive in grand gestures, but in small moments of noticing.
Creating art during this darker season feels a lot like waiting for the light. Each layer builds on the last, even when I can’t yet see where it’s all going. Trusting the process becomes an act of faith that what’s forming beneath the surface will eventually emerge.
And just like the solstice, art reminds me that light is never gone, it’s only waiting to return.
As we move through this season together, I hope you find moments of light wherever you can, in nature, in creativity, in quiet reflection, or in the company of people you love.
Wishing you a peaceful winter solstice, a Merry Christmas, and warm wishes for whatever holidays you celebrate. May the returning light bring you comfort, hope, and gentle joy.
