These are Dark Days. Don't Lose Your Light.

There’s no other way to say it: these are dark days here in America.

And this lack of light has nothing to do with the orientation of the planet and everything to do with the trajectory of our nation.

Outside of a very select few who are benefiting from the discord, no one is particularly festive right now and for good reason. We’d be foolish not to feel the tension we’re sitting in, not to see the weariness in people, not to notice the soul fatigue in ourselves.

This year, many of us have felt like we’ve had precious stuff stolen from us: our peace, our rest, our dreams, our freedoms, our security, our national pride, our faith, our families, our friendships, our voices, our futures.

And because of that, it kinda feels like the holidays are being stolen, too.

For most of my life, I’ve loved this time of year: the cracking bustle of the season, and then the way everything would slow down and the world would seem to pause and exhale together. When I was younger, it always seemed as though people were being their best selves in these days; a little nicer, a little gentler with one another, a bit more compassionate with those on the fringes. Kindness seemed more plentiful, and cruelty felt scarce.

Growing up, I recall a seasonal gratitude rising almost involuntarily as I inventoried my life and was reminded of my blessings. I remember a palpable sense of expectancy as I reflected on the year that was concluding and leaned toward the good things I was hoping would come with the change of the calendar.

Things are different now.
These days are not merry and bright.
Goodness and light do not feel imminent.
Many people feel themselves dimming inside.
I know I do.
Maybe you do, too.

In the faith tradition I was raised in, I always understood Christmas as the celebration of a great light coming into the world, of hope overwhelming the thick darkness, of something beautifully redemptive showing up in the most dire of moments.

It was the arrival of unfathomable goodness being born in the dark and the cold, amid the smell of mud, damp straw, and animal dung.

Christmas, as I understood it, was the presence of peace arriving when peace seemed impossible.

To commandeer a familiar refrain from my youth, I need a little Christmas, now.

More than any I can recall in my adult life, there is a heavy sense of dread permeating this particular season; a feeling that we are a polluted people sinking in a toxic bitterness that will not cease, surrounded by a rising malevolence that knows no bounds.

If there was ever a time to abandon joy, it would be now.
If there was ever a season when despair was justifiable, it would be this one.
If there was a moment for surrendering fully to hopelessness, this would be it.

And yet, I am fighting not to let the darkness around me steal the light from within me.

That doesn’t mean hiding from the truth of how terrible things are or avoiding the scale of all there is to grieve over or averting my eyes from the suffering. I’m just not going to let it have me all of me. I can’t, or all will be lost.

I don’t know what your faith perspective or religious worldview is.
I don’t know your emotional condition, your financial situation, or your family circumstances.
I don’t have any real idea about how and where these words find you or the obstacles you have in your path right now.

All I know is that these are dark days, and more than ever we need fiercely decent people to stay and stand and to split the darkness in ways that only human beings burdened to stay human can.

If you still have a spark left within you, protect it, nurture it, kindle it… share it.
Look around you.
Look carefully.
Strain to see the things and the people who give you hope, even if you have to look past so much that tempts you to feel hopeless.
Unearth the beautiful things trapped beneath the rubble of bad news and altered stories and future fears, even if it takes more energy than you think you have.
The beautiful things are worth it.

Friend, I know why you are struggling to hold onto the light within you right now. I am, too. But I also know that right now doing so is more valuable and powerful and necessary than it’s ever been.

Do something to remind yourself why you live.
Embrace the people you love.
Use the gifts you have to bring joy.
Be present to this day.
Laugh fully.
Breathe deeply.
Give whatever you have to give.
Show mercy toward yourself.
Sing or dance or cry or sleep or shout into the ether.
Do anything you need to do to sustain yourself right now.

But whatever you do, in days when darkness seems to be winning, when so many feel as though they are close to being extinguished: please don’t lose your light.