The Holidays Can Be Hard: blessing the darkness

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Today is the darkest/shortest day of the year for those of us in the northern hemisphere:  winter solstice.
 
Outside my window, it is grey, bleak and cold.  The trees are bare, shivering in the bracing wind.  I’m wearing cozy socks, an oversized sweatshirt, and seem to always have a mug of coffee or throat coat tea nearby. 
 
Winter solstice is an invitation to pause – to look up from our keyboards and to-do lists to find that the world is dark, quiet, resting.  Animals are snug in their dens, plants curled up in the hard ground, quietly waiting for spring. 
 
And it seems that solstice is a rebuke to the commercialized buzz of Christmas shopping.  As all of creation sleeps - my phone is abuzz with text messages –

  • THIS IS YOUR FINAL CHANCE FOR EXPEDITED SHIPPING

  • Do you have your stocking stuffers?!?!

  • Here are 27 recipes guaranteed to impress your in-laws. 

Solstice inspiration
Maybe solstice is the invitation you need – if you don’t feel abundant or generous - if this year was hard and cold and only looks to be more of the same. 

Maybe you can take inspiration from your front-yard maple, who is unashamed to stand, stripped of adornment, its face turned to the wind.  And it can give you courage to face Aunt Margo and her stream of questions as to why you don’t have a boyfriend yet.
 
Or borrow courage from the bushy-tailed squirrel, nestled deep in an inviting oak, as you opt out of plans or parties that will only leave you exposed and exhausted.
 
Gentle companions
May you be surrounded by gentle companions who can meet you in your pain, in your loss, in your exhaustion - welcoming you into rest and honoring the complexity of all you are and are experiencing in this season.
 
And may you be one of those companions – if you are in a season of stability and abundance.  Keep an eye out for those that are struggling, those who have lost something or someone.  Take a moment to come near, to tell them you are happy they are there, to listen and to connect without judgment. 
 
Hope and a final blessing
In our mechanized, industrial, capitalistic churn, we *tend to* define ourselves by what we produce – resisting and even fearing rest.
 
As the world goes dark - winter solstice is, in a surprising way, marked by a stubborn, steadfast hope.  Retreating into the dark and the quiet - you don’t know what is stirring, down deep in the soil. 

Blessing for the longest night
by Jan Richardson

All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.


It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.


So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.


You will know
the moment of its
arriving
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;
a loosening
of the clenching
in your hands,
of the clutch
around your heart;
a thinning
of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.


This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,
knows the resting spots
along the path,
knows what it means
to travel
in the company
of a friend.


So when
this blessing comes,
take its hand.
Get up.
Set out on the road
you cannot see.


This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.

Check out Jan's book:  A Cure for Sorrow:  Blessings for TImes of Grief