The Power of Light

Holding tight a mug of steaming coffee, I enjoyed a splurge of eggnog goodness. Ah, I was finally finished. My eyes danced about the refreshed rooms, my mind wandering to a time past … when this accomplished task was met with questioning glances and sad faces.

Reflecting back to a day long ago when, at three ‘o clock, in bounded my four children.  They were tired from school as they pushed each other through our front door. Eyebrows arched as they stopped and groaned in menacing tones. The oldest shook her head and headed upstairs to her room. Looking baffled, her younger sister followed.

“Mom, what did you do?”

My younger son searched for an answer while his older brother sat in the corner chair and stared at the wall where the sparkling tree had been earlier. I had just packed away the last seasonal decorations, tinsel, bows, and all. Suddenly my pride in accomplishment vanished.

For a long moment, I stood by my older son and gazed along with him at the wall.

“Mom, I miss the lights.  They made me feel good. Warm and cozy. Like everything and everyone was alright.”

Our eyes met. Putting away the holiday decor and beginning anew had felt so good a minute ago. Now, I understood that I missed them too.

Ah, the power of light ... and something else.  

When I was a teen, I would sit on the bottom stair and watch the electric flicker of the window candelabra. Waiting. Hoping. Thinking on the eventful celebrations at school and the sense of expectation during church services. But mostly, wondering. And feeling a warmth all over.

There was another time when I was newly married and it was Thanksgiving. Shortly after our guests had cleared their plates and parted with full stomachs, my husband and I got to work. Hauling the factory new branches from the box, we yanked and pulled until a semblance of a holiday tree leaned before us. Its branches so reaching, its soft glow stirring our hearts.

On yet another Christmas, an early winter came in with a vengeance. Icy rain drizzled and snow piled and drifted. Blizzard conditions found me lost in my own backyard. I shivered and layered up with scarves, down outer-wear and weather proof boots. Coming in from the cold, the fireplace beckoned with its skipping orange flame and toasty temperature.

Finally, as days became longer, I held my face upward, arched cheeks soaking in the rays. The earth had yielded to the time of Spring. The closer dance of the sun had returned to us. Yes, we so need light.    

Reminisces. But how will such thought help my son? I had an idea.

Dashing down to the basement, I hauled out packed boxes, and rummaged through. Where was it? Fingering a long cord, I pulled out an electric window candelabra and flew upstairs and positioned it in the picture window. My son turned in his chair and smiled.

The power of light. Nothing can beat a warm summer sun, or crackling fireplace, or a newly decorated tree, bright in all its glory. It brings a sense of calm, of all that is good with the world.

“Thanks Mom,” said my son. “But nothing can really replace Christmas.” I nodded. He was right. But if this day can be held close ... its joy-filled message and kindness shared, light will continue forth for all of us.   

And with that thought, I left the room.   

… “and that’s how I live it.”