The trees of the woods are starkly beautiful, standing unashamed – nay, proud – in their winter nakedness, white snow glistening on the tops of their uplifted limbs and branches; starkly, silently beautiful, and even I, an admitted winterphobe, must stand in awe at their hushed grandeur.

I was standing behind my dog, Channing, at the end of her leash this morning, both of us taking in the quiet, wet, white of the yard, when suddenly Channing started kicking up her back feet, throwing snow all over me. This is something dogs do, this kicking up of their back feet when they’re feeling their oats, but it is not something Channing has ever done at the end of her leash (with me standing directly behind her). It was an expression of sheer exuberance, and while I didn’t share the moment with quite the same gusto, I found that I, too, was feeling particularly happy and alive.

I write this on Winter Solstice day, the day of the longest night of the year. Many churches have "Longest Night" services on this day, services acknowledging the long nights of our lives, the sorrow and darkness that many feel during the holidays, or have felt, for whatever reason, during the past year. They are small services, often, but healing for those who attend. I considered the possibility of our having such a service here, but did not pursue it; it is a busy time in an overflowing season.

But now is a good time for introspection, if you can spare a few moments. It is a good time to ponder the seasons of our lives, the ebb and flow of darkness and light, of love and loss, of joy and sorrow, for these are the things that make us human, and make our lives complete. It is also a good time to consider the new light, now in the midst of this darkest season, the new and growing light that, each day, will bring us closer to spring, and the renewal of life and hope and rebirth.

Beth Lefever, Student Minister