Not ready for the Light

 This week - this strange out of time week between Christmas and the New Year - this week that is part of the 12 days of Christmas when I should be joyous and celebratory often feels like the real waiting of Advent. This year it is even worse - I have been waiting for so long for what exactly - a return to "normal" what ever that is - an end to the pandemic - freely and fearlessly seeing friends or even just going for a walk in the park or a trip to the grocery store. We still talk about the number of cases, the transmission rates, availability of rapid tests, symptoms to watch out for. 

This week - this strange week - this liminal limbo. Yule and solstice and Christmas past - Huzzah, blessed be, Emmanuel, the light has returned. 

This week - I learned I'm not ready for the light. I want to remain underground - dormant - in darkness - an old miser counting out failures, tallying my insignificance, multiplying my unimportance, making an accounting of my incompetence  - feeling so small and defeated there will never be enough. The books never balance. 

I'm not ready for the light - yet, I appreciate the sparkle of the snow - I tend the little ember in the corner of my soul - I laugh and wonder and still love orange marmalade on toast and a good cup of tea. 

This week - this strange week ending a strange year -  I'm not ready for the light - and the amazing thing is, the light doesn't care - like the game of hide and seek, ready or not here it comes. I wonder how good my hiding place is.