Grace + Light for the Longest Night

Originally published at KarenVernon.net on December 20, 2020

The winter solstice has become a special observance for me; for many of the past several years at this time I’ve reflected on a piece called “Listening to Winter” by Macrina Wiederkehr, which among other things calls us to the “sacrament of non-doing.” The words usually come as a balm to my weary soul, at a point in the season when I am exhausted from all the “doing” at work, at home, with gatherings of friends.

Then along comes 2020. This year, I suspect most of us approach the solstice utterly weary from the non-doing, from the disruption of our plans and the upending of our normal routines, thrust upon us by an invisible peril that has confined many of us to home and kept us apart. Such a forced non-doing has more often agitated than calmed, even as we adjust to this (surely) temporary state of being. 

While in other years I’ve been eager to embrace the dark and quiet elements of the winter solstice, this year I am reminded that the season is really about the return of the light. We know the coming winter may hold even more darkness before we get to the other side of the pandemic, which makes it all the more important that we look for and celebrate the pinpoints of hope that light our way toward spring, toward a vaccine, toward whatever “normal” we long to return to. 

Along with light, grace is a concept that’s much in my thoughts. One of the best descriptions of its religious roots comes from Frederick Buechner – a reflection we loved so much, my husband and I used it in our wedding ceremony. (It’s a short piece, and I promise, it’s worth a read.)

I’ve noticed how the word grace has been showing up in more of my conversations and in the wider world lately. We talk of “giving grace” to ourselves or to each other. Isn’t it lovely, in a year when we’re all battered and worn, that we are reminding ourselves to tread gently? Granted, in one of the most divisive times in our country’s history, grace hasn’t always been evident, but the verbal reminders can move us a tiny bit more in that direction. 

So this year, my own personal winter solstice reflection is a stringing together of some of those moments of grace that have been visited upon me this year. They might have been unremarkable in other times, but in a year of heaviness and angst, they shine like tiny beacons in the darkness, reminding me of the good that’s all around us, that can be ours, as Buechner says, “if only [we’ll] reach out and take it.”

Pinpoints of Grace, 2020 Edition

Grace was recognizing a career path was wrong for me, having the courage to step off it and into the unknown, and trusting there would be a net to catch me. Grace also was laughing when my husband didn’t know the “leap and a net will appear” quote I mentioned to him during that time, and then making ourselves a set of matching mugs to serve as a light-hearted reminder.

Grace was having time to contemplate my deepest, truest wants and needs, so that I’d recognize the net when it appeared and be able to “reach out and take it.” It was being heard – really listened to – and having my own wisdom honored. And it was finding new purpose and new learning, in a workplace that leaves room for my heart and soul.

Grace was discovering there are those who value my writing and the expertise I’ve accumulated over the past several decades, and learning that seemingly simple ideas right out of my own head could earn me (a little) extra income.

Grace was having adult children and their friends with us for an extended time in the spring, reconnecting through daily life and afternoon happy hours on the porch in view of these ancient mountains, together finding our way through the pandemic’s early days.

Grace was seeing our youngest child graduate from high school and reflecting on a journey that didn’t follow the expected path. And grace was remembering to tell the friends who had offered us important perspective and encouragement along the way what a difference that made.

Grace was paying it forward – becoming trusted confidantes to others navigating challenges similar to our own. This year, I have recognized that there’s perhaps no more pure form of grace than turning our own pain and struggle into something that eases the burdens of others.

Grace was reconnecting with one of my lifelong friends and visiting more often through technology than we ever have in person. And grace was monthly book club meetings over Zoom, culminating recently with lighting the first candle of Hanukkah together, virtually.

Grace reveals itself through more frequent texts and hand-written cards among friends both near and far, just checking on each other and making sure we stay connected. And grace is parking lot meetings and drive-by visits when we just need to lay actual eyes on the people we care about.

Grace is daily talks with my parents, who have been through so much this year; grace is bearing witness to the resilience and humor they bring to their everyday moments.

Grace was setting a goal at the beginning of “lock-down” to have at least one belly-laugh each day, and most days finding humor in the absurdity of this crazy life we live.

Grace, ultimately, means learning what matters. When the busyness and distraction of our “normal” lives are stripped away, grace is in what remains. 

Our blessings are still too numerous to count, and grace is the gift of grateful hearts that continue to turn toward the light.