what if we sat in the dark?

a case for the time between halloween and christmas

A solid month before Halloween I went to Costco with Sam. He’s three and this year all things spooky had a vice grip on his attention and it had been tiresome going to the grocery store and attempting to dodge the more intense or grotesque spookery. Suffice it to say, I was preparing myself for this Costco run when we were met not with spookies, but rows and rows of (what my husband likes to call) “jollies”. We were in the second week of October and there they were–light up snowmen and reindeer and every size pre-lit artificial evergreen money could buy. On some level, I was relieved to not have to endure the” nightmare before produce” with my toddler, but we both gaped at the twinkle lights and the Christmas music playing and Sam said what I was thinking; “Mama, where did all of the spookies go?” Where indeed…

In many ways I understand the draw to want to pull out the cheery Christmas themed decor as soon as Halloween is over. The days are getting darker and colder and less time in natural vitamin D makes me crave atmosphere’s that feel warm and inviting. I’m literally writing this with a heating pad draped across my lap. Believe me, I get it.

I also understand why the commercial world is pushing different season rollovers as fast as they possibly can. Apparently now the modern human’s attention span is 8.25 seconds. If something doesn’t capture our attention quickly, it basically doesn’t exist. While I feel like I can’t wrap my head around this, it makes more sense after my phone reminds me of what my screen time was each week (and it ain’t good folks). 

While the modern western world isn’t doing anything to help us focus on the “things that matter” I can’t blame it for being, well, the modern western world. And I swear I’m not trying to be a Scrooge. For me, it’s not a bah humbug issue, it’s a time issue. It feels like we’re literally wasting precious time.

Sam—probably waiting for the garbage truck

I’ve always thought that wasting time was throwing time away on doing something not worth doing or doing nothing when I should be doing something. But I think we can also waste time by trying to speed up our days. Time is a gift and it’s the only currency we can never get back. When we toss the pumpkins out and immediately throw up the lights and tree, we’re not holding space for anticipation–an anticipation that I truly feel God invites us into that is a gift all its own.

The holidays can be a hard time for so many of us–loneliness, loss of friendships and family connections, and depression all seem to come bubbling up to the surface in this season of literal darkness. Clinging to the warmth and nostalgia of Christmastime feels a bit like a balm for a wound that never really heals. I don’t have the solution to healing those pain points (I also wrestle with them), but I have felt the call to slow down and sit in the dark in order to let it teach me to appreciate the light. My husband likes to say that an Ansel Adams photograph without the dark bits is just a sheet of paper. We need the darkness to be able to better appreciate the light.

There are 32 days of ordinary season before Advent begins, and there are 22 days of Advent. That’s 54 days before Christmas day, but Christmastide extends after the 25th–much like Easter, the party continues! And while not a holy holiday, Thanksgiving is sandwiched in the middle, giving us a chance to pause and reflect on how God has blessed us. We have time to celebrate. And we can look forward to it without the need to rush it.

Advent is a time of anticipation. I think about one of Sam’s favorite books, in which a mama bear and her son (also named Sam) bake cakes for their friends. While waiting for the cakes to bake, Sam bear asks his mother when the cakes will be ready, pulling her apron and saying “I can’t wait, I can’t wait, I can’t wait!” I love the mother’s response to her son. She simply says “Soon, Sam. Soon.” 

Sitting in a waiting room not knowing when our name will be called can be maddening, but that’s not what Advent is. We know what’s coming–it’s just not happening yet. A baby is not ready to leave its mother’s womb for nine months and seeds need the cold darkness of the soil to germinate. We need the darkness, the stillness, the anticipation. How else are we supposed to ready ourselves in order to behold something as incredible as the child God?

The space that feels empty in the ordinary and Advent seasons before Christmas is pregnant with anticipation. It’s a liminal space where heaven and earth touch. I think that’s why this time feels hard–it’s the earth and our human souls crying out for the thing we know is coming, but isn’t yet. I wonder what would happen if we embraced that awkward, heavy, dark time like a friend rather than trying to ward it off with carols and nutmeg spiced lattes? I wonder if the stars would seem a little brighter to us, if our hearts would be more open to the lonely, and if we’d feel a bit more like children, riddled with anticipation, standing on tiptoes at the window, waiting for snow?  

What if we allowed the dark to be a miracle in itself?

Always,
Emily

Real life moment: Knowing how to celebrate Advent can be tricky. A place to start would be making yourself a playlist of Advent-centric songs (subscribe to my Substack and I’ll send you mine!) and grabbing an Advent devotional. I love this one by Tsh Oxenreider and hope to go through this one by Tish Harrison Warren this year. Apparently if your name is some form of “Tish” you have Advent on lock.