Wrangler Dani

(Stolen from myself, my Substack that is. Subscribe here.)

You may have noticed that these strange little missives of mine doesn’t exactly adhere to what one might call a schedule. I plan to write something of interest to you all once a month, but sometimes my musings are fit only for the dumpster and sometimes I think they need more work (or dumpsters) and sometimes I have nothing to say and wind up writing a grocery list instead, which in all honesty might be the most useful bit of writing I do. I’m always writing; rarely making art.

Anyhoo, I wanted to follow up on my last piece a bit sooner than I normally would, because I heard back from some of you worrying that I am far, far too glum and need to start looking on the bright side (an aphorism that is uniquely appropriate). This has gotten me to thinking about light and darkness.

We string lights at Christmas because the days are uniquely short and dim at this time of year, so light is more neccessary, more bouying and hopeful. Like our ancient anscestors we are moved to introspection at the solstice – perhaps the big changes in light remind us how fragile we really are. Here in Central Oregon it has been a particularly dark winter, extensive clouds make the long evenings deep with sumptuous gloom. We hung bright multicolored Christmas lights on our little farmhouse because the kids love it, but for Adam and I it has been a reminder of a spiritual practice. We clomp out the door in teh dark for work or chores, to do something hard or cold or wet – and the bright cheeriness of the eaves reminds us that night doesn’t last. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

Babies don’t keep. Neither do Christmas lights or dark nights, sad seasons or joyful ones. Isaiah will not always grill Santa on his chimney strategy or where the reindeers live, Adelay will not always say “I want to snuggle mama” at the end of a long day. I don’t want to perspective my way out of emotional honesty, but there’s truth here: light shines best in darkness. One of my students brought Christmas light necklaces to class this week and passed them out to everyone and the lights blinked and sparkled at all the wrong times and oh how it made us all laugh behind our masks. There’s just something so silly and wholehearted about that, isn’t there? We wear our Christmas sweaters and use glittery bows not because our lives are easy or picture-perfect, but precisely because they are not. We lean into beauty and kindness because we know that gifts under the tree won’t heal the world, but perhaps generosity can.

Yes, I have written a lot about the my dreams deferred and my personal winter nights. Yes, my thoughts lately have been more drivel and less dynamic; I have Big Feelings up in here – but! But! There are lights gleaming in the windows and on the eaves, and the weary world rejoices. Rejoice! That’s an astounding word for angels to blurt out to us common folk, for someone to write after a descriptor like “the weary world”. It’s not a word of contentment or make do – rejoice says stomp the snow off your feet and dance, shake the walls of your creaky house with your joy, hang up more twinkle lights, give and receive freely. Love has come. Rejoice! I hear the work required here, same as you do. Rejoicing – light-finding – is no easy task in a world so burdened by hate and hardship. But the steps are simple, for me: soak up the feeling of small warm hands in mine, the kind chuckle of my husband and the taste of homemade delights, prepared with love. Find light. Chase goodness.

Now I’m off to have an afternoon cup of coffee with eggnog instead of cream (if you haven’t tried this delightful combo, you’re missing out) and watch my kids throw fluffy, ineffectual snowballs at one another and the dog. Maybe I’ll even join in. That’s everyday, Monday-afternoon light-finding, and it is indeed spiritual practice.