Our theme for the month of March is “light.”
So many moments of summer come back to me in glimmers of light.
The afterglow of a summer sunset over Lake Michigan.
The sparkle of fireflies illuminating the yard at twilight.
The explosion of multi-color fireworks in the darkened sky.
The hot summer sun cutting through clouds and baking the asphalt.
Sparks from a campfire crackling, reaching up to join the stars in the sky.
The late afternoon reflection of the sunlight off the water outside my window causing light to ripple unpredictably across the ceiling.
The warmth felt when spending time with friends who really know and love me.
Winter memories feel darker, but even so are still defined by light. The daylight is shorter but that much more noticeable when it’s present. The blue light of the TV glows in my living room as I make dinner, the incandescence of the moon becomes more consequential as I walk the dog. A cozy fire brings both warmth and comforting light; a flickering candle reminds me that all life isn’t gone even when the world is dim and quiet.
Darkness is the absence of light, and winter often involves the absence of sun, at least for a longer portion of the day. It’s a darkened season, both literally and of the soul. It’s slower, as nature turns to hibernation and humans turn to caffeination to continue carrying on.
But December feels like light—surrounded by twinkling reminders that Christmas approaches. We light candles and sing Silent Night, knowing that the Light of the World won’t be leaving us in darkness forever.
Light feels like hope.
It dances and plays, wakes us up in the morning, warms our faces. It creates shadows, only to splash them full with a golden glow.
At least in this life, light is not permanent—it’s cyclical. The lights we’re provided at night aren’t quite as bright as those in the day. Campfires burn out, fireflies flicker and then disappear, the sun sets and rises again.
Hope often feels cyclical too. There are moments I’m filled with confidence and hope that sometimes, maybe things do work out as they’re meant to. And there are more where darkness seems to sink all the way to my bones, weighing me and any positive thinking down past the point of no return. It’s in these moments that remembering and searching for the light becomes essential to survival.
The light of fireflies in early summer is one of the most thrilling for me, partially because of how fleeting it is. You may notice their glow in your peripheral vision, but you really only see them clearly if you’re looking for them. Their reappearing lights are a surprise, popping up in unexpected and unpredictable places. So much of the good in life is like that—it’s easy to find things that are going wrong, but moments that feel right? Those often require more awareness. But they’re there, glimmering in the twilight.
Olivia graduated from Calvin in May 2018 with a double major in business and writing. She now works as an editor in Nashville, Tennessee and is eating her way through the restaurants of her new town. She enjoys weekend trips with friends, petting other people’s dogs, and drinking coffee like a Gilmore Girl.
The light inside you that reflects Jesus is incredibly beautiful and can never be extinguished. Love your writings.
Your writing is beautiful. You have so much beautiful light in your life— don’t let the dark moments shut out that light.
Thank you both so much <3 you are both lights in my life!
Even if the light is there, we need to seek it to find it. I really like the cyclical aspect you mention to both light and hope. It does seem rather appropriate for all life, really.
I totally agree. Thank you for sharing and for reading!