This fall has been challenging, for a lot of reasons. And while I won’t go into the specifics here, things became particularly difficult just as daylight savings time began, and the darkness began to descend an hour earlier each day, when the days were already getting shorter. And it felt like the world around me was making a difficult season even harder by becoming darker when what I longed for was light. In fact, my prayer throughout this fall has been: “God, please bring it into the light…”

One evening in mid-November, after a particularly long and discouraging day, in which I felt like everything was moving backward instead of forward, I read this: 

“Lighting a candle feels like doing something, even though it’s tiny. The flame reminds me that it only takes a small amount of light to push back the dark, and that it’s possible to be both constant and fluid at the same time…I may not have answers, next steps, or clarity. But I can take this match, light this candle, say a prayer, and trust that God is with me now and now and now. This I know for sure.” — Emily P. Freeman, “When You Feel Like Something is Ending But You Don’t Know What”

And I remembered that I used to have a regular practice of lighting candles. I would light a candle during my morning prayer time. I would light a candle when I was writing or focusing on a specific creative project. I would light a candle simply to remind me that I was not alone. But over the last several years, my practice of lighting candles gradually diminished for a variety of reasons (mostly, having to do with safety around babies/toddlers and the rearranging of a house that occurs to accommodate children in it day-to-day). It wasn’t intentional. And I didn’t realize until I read this how rarely I light candles these days.  

The next morning, when I awoke early before the rest of my family (as I usually do, to have some quiet time in prayer), I lit a candle. That simple ritual transformed my prayer time that day. Lighting that candle felt like doing something. Even if I could not do anything to alter or improve the myriad of things weighing heavily on me, I could light a candle and pray, and that was doing something. The flame dancing next to me was a reminder that I was not alone in that moment, and that I am not ever alone. And in the light of that candle, the room looked different, and the challenges and difficulties I was experiencing looked different, too. My perspective changed. And I have continued to light a candle every morning since then, reclaiming this practice for myself. 

Fast forward a few weeks. Last weekend, we decorated our house for Christmas, and I’ll admit, I was grumpy about it. I just didn’t feel ready. For me, it didn’t matter what the calendar said, it wasn’t time yet. I longed to ease into Advent slowly this year. But our daughters were enthusiastically playing Christmas music the day after Thanksgiving and I was putting in my earbuds to block it out. We put up the tree. I got out the Christmas linens. We hung the garland. But I wasn’t in the spirit of it. The one thing I wanted to do was set up the Advent wreath. So, I did that, and I let others take the lead on much of the rest. 

On Sunday evening, after a morning of complete chaos at church (first Sunday of Advent, communion Sunday, covering for a staff member on vacation), our family sat down and lit the first candle on our Advent wreath. It was a moment of stillness as that flame danced before us, and that’s when I began to feel my grumpiness softening, my resistance decreasing, and perhaps a hint of anticipation beginning to grow… 

On Thursday evening, David and I went to Candlelight at Southwestern University, my alma mater. Attending this worship service each December is really important to me, and it’s the one opportunity I have during Advent to worship without leading or being responsible for anything at all. It concludes with lighting candles, the dimming of the lights and the glow of the dancing flames, reminding us of the light of Christ shining in the darkness. And that room full of candles ushered me into this season when we anticipate the coming of the light.

I still have a lot on my mind. The hard things are still hard. But the practice of lighting candles has reminded me, again and again in recent weeks, that – in the words of Emily P. Freeman – “God is with me now and now and now. This I know for sure.” I knew that before I reclaimed this practice for myself. But the embodied practice of lighting candles, the visual of the flame next to me, the change in the light and the smell of the room…that has transformed my experience of this season of darkness, and for that, I am extremely grateful.

Do a simple thing today, friends: light a candle, and wait to see what happens.