December is the coldest and darkest month of the year. The days are shorter, the skies are grey, and most of nature is either dead or dormant. My nose freezes as I walk from the house to my car with eyes watering against the blizzard wind; through gritted teeth I look around and assure myself, “the snow is beautiful, the snow is beautiful…”. I’m the kind of loyal Midwesterner that insists on the delusion, “I love living somewhere with four seasons!” but in reality, I shut my eyes, zip up my coat, grit my teeth, and try to get through this until spring.
The truth is, I love a lot of the things about winter—ice skating, hot chocolate, fireplaces, snowflakes, fuzzy socks—but I don’t really like winter as a season. Winter is the final act of the play, the last stage of life; it means the earth has budded, grown, lived, thrived, and now she’s dropped her head, shut her eyes, and gone to sleep. Winter is the time where no fruit, vegetable, or flower is “in season.” It’s when my apartment gets so cold that the breakers trip and my pipes freeze. It’s the period in the Bible between the Old and New Testaments; the years of waiting, stillness, and silence, where nobody heard from God.
Winter is often tolerated as a necessary evil rather than celebrated as a necessary cleanse. We endure the winter because we know it means spring will come—I’m tired of shutting my eyes, gritting my teeth, and pushing through things in my life, including the cold. I’d like to stop and listen to the silence, sit with the stillness, and appreciate the winter for who she is; because despite being the coldest and darkest month of the year, December is also the brightest and warmest.
Today is Christmas Eve. This is the day the world holds its breath in anticipation of the birth of the Light of the World. To many, baby Jesus represents hope in a time of despair and light in a time of darkness. Notice that the celebration of Jesus’s birth is not at the end of winter, but instead in the midst of it. It is a candle, a star, a constant reminder that death does not only promise or bring new life, but instead death itself is a new life. God doesn’t say, “Wait until spring.” Rather, he says, “Even in the darkness, I am here.” And he always will be.
One week from today, it will be New Year’s Eve: the day that heralds the rebirth of our calendars and the dawn of a “new you.” New Year’s is the day we all try to start fresh, implement new habits, and leave the old ones behind. It’s the one day that holds all the hope for the next 365, the promise that “this year will be different,” and the belief that this time, it really will.
And—exactly a week ago, actually—it was my twenty-eighth birthday.
As much as I love my hometown of Grand Rapids, and as much as I love my family, I waved goodbye to both of them in the rearview mirror as I started the long drive back towards Chicago. Since childhood I’ve spent every birthday there; Chicago is a magical place during Christmas time and I cherish all the years I’ve been able to spend there. The entire city dresses up for the occasion. I remember being small and bundled up, watching the giant snowflakes fall against the backdrop of the skyscrapers and staring at the golden, glittering Christmas trees outside First Presbyterian Church. My mom would take me ice skating in Millennium Park, we would get hot chocolate, and we would go to the American Girl store. Back then, there were even horse-drawn carriages with jingle bells trotting down Michigan Avenue. To this day there’s no other place I’d rather spend my birthday.
December is the coldest and darkest month of the year, and December is beautiful for being that. As I recall the memories of a magical childhood in the snow, live in the presence of my loved ones on this Christmas, and plan for the new hopes and adventures of 2025, I appreciate December in a whole new way; I want to hug her and thank her for the slumber she brings to the earth, the heartbeat she keeps beneath the blanket of snow, and the place only she can create for light and warmth in the winter.

Sophia (‘19) double-majored in theatre and religion and insists that her life is a “storybook.” She lives in an apartment above a flower shop in downtown Chicago and has multiple roles working across the arts in comedy, music, theatre, film, and visual art—though her greatest passion is writing. Her work includes stage plays, screenplays, and articles, focusing mostly on cultural trends, comedy, reviews, and religious satire. She loves road trips, visiting her family in Grand Rapids, hunting for the perfect latte, and rescuing plants from the flower shop’s dumpster.
Thank you for being such a bright source of light and warmth in our lives!
This was such a beautiful read Sophia. Thank you for taking me on this journey with you. I’ve found a new love for winter as I welcome rest in my life and this was perfect to sink into this Christmas ❤️