What I love about December is as long as Santa’s nice list.
Hot chocolate, stacks of fuzzy blankets, our Christmas tree filled with ornaments representing our family’s special memories. Little Red Charlie, our Elf on the Shelf who still hides around the house even though the jig has been up for years. Carols, peppermint mochas, cards from friends near and far, Linus Van Pelt reciting from the Book of Luke. Advent candles, singing “Silent Night” during candlelight Christmas Eve services, neighborhoods aglow in gaudy lights.
As we end yet another year in desperate need of redemption, all that light in the darkness offers hope.
It’s not just the towering Cowboys-blue tree at The Star in Frisco or the plethora of choreographed light shows across Dallas-Fort Worth or the bedazzled front yards and rooftops in my neighborhood. Yes, those literal lights pierce the dark winter sky, but they also symbolize the light we each carry, our own ability to dispel the darkness.
I was reminded of the power of light while enjoying the current Van Gogh exhibit at the Dallas Museum of Art. “Van Gogh and the Olive Groves” gathers works from the tortured artist’s final year, when he was living voluntarily in an asylum in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, France. He found peace painting the olive trees that surrounded the psychiatric hospital.
When you stand in front of his paintings, knowing some of his story and his struggles, you’re reminded that we are complex beings. We are not only our sorrow and our madness, not only our optimism and our intellect. We are all of those at once, capable of creativity while grieving, of compassion while suffering.
My favorite piece of the exhibit, Olive Trees, captured me with serene greens and blues, pulled me in closer with its perspective and swirling brushstrokes, and forced me to consider how much pain Van Gogh endured while he created such beauty.
Van Gogh found and shared hope amid despair.
This time last year, if we weren’t grieving losses from COVID-19, we were at the very least frayed from a few months of pandemic living. And here we are, thankful to have survived a rocky 2021 and heading into 2022 with another new variant and all the uncertainty and fear that follows.
We could all use a little more light in the darkness — and perhaps a reminder that we can make life easier for others when we share our own light.
I’m an optimist deep in my soul, and when my husband was battling brain cancer years ago, I became a silver lining expert. We celebrated every month — 12 blessed months — of survival past expectation based on his diagnosis. When he could no longer drive, we counted ourselves lucky that I could. We rejoiced when blood counts allowed chemotherapy to continue. We dug deep for light in the darkest days.
But sometimes you struggle to find consolation and you need help from others.
During what would be the final Christmas season of Steve’s life, about 50 friends and family members gathered on our lawn to serenade our little family with Christmas carols. We sat on the front walkway and listened to “Angels We Have Heard on High” and “Jingle Bells” and “Joy to the World.”
All those special people, gathered outside our home, sharing their voices and expressing love — they shared light that carried us through some of our darkest days.
Each Advent season since, I take a moment to sit in the same spot in our yard, remembering where friends gathered and which melodies they sang. I marvel at our capacity for joy in the middle of heavy trials and set a fresh intention to ward off the darkness. I give thanks for December and its gifts, many of which aren’t under the tree.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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December 04, 2021 at 02:32PM
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The art of finding light in the darkness - The Dallas Morning News
"light" - Google News
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