As fall slowly sheds it’s colours and trades it’s rustic palette for cold winter hues, I find myself daydreaming next to the crackling fireplace as I sit bundled up next to my fresh cut Christmas tree while watching the snow filled clouds arrive out my frosted window before the sky begins to darken.

The funny thing about that scene is that it’s 70 degrees outside, my fireplace is turned on by the flip of an on-off switch, and the only reason my tree smells freshly cut is because of the pine scented sticks dispersed through the branches.

In other words my daydream is just exactly that—a daydream. In reality, I am actually curled into my fluffy down comforter with my laptop propped up on my lap as I sip my hot black tea. I am listening to “Christmas Classics” radio on Spotify, which is really setting the mood.

Ever since I can remember, Christmas has been my favourite holiday. I’m not sure what about Christmas has made me so fond of the holiday—I think maybe it’s the mix of happiness, joy, and the fresh smell of turkey and evergreen. But to be honest, maybe it’s the smell of my champagne and coffee candle that have my emotions spewing about.

You see, I spent the good part of my evening stringing Christmas lights around my room. I needed something to keep my mind distracted, something to calm my restlessness, and something to make my room feel like a sanctuary in this crazy time of year.

I strung the threads of lights across and around the features of my room, allowing the glass bulbs to settle haphazardly in, and around, the furniture in my room.

My controlling tendency kicked in when the lights didn’t land somewhere plainly visible, and as I moved to redirect their landing spot, my action was overridden. The wanting to rearrange the light strands suddenly seemed unimportant, so I curled myself in a heap on my bed instead.

And as I watched the tiny illuminated spheres fill my room with their luster, the tangle in my mind seemed to unwind, and that’s when I realised: it doesn’t matters where the tiny sparks land in the room; it only matters if they’re plugged in and properly functioning. Because regardless of where the light is, if it’s connected to a source of energy, it will illuminate wherever.

I didn’t realise the profoundness of my lazy afternoon until now, as I sit in my bed listening to the wind roar now that it is in fact, dark out.

The lights that are strung so effortlessly around my room were the ones we used to string and staple to the trim of my house. They’ve weathered (a few) snow falls and thunderstorms. They’ve been blown around by the wind and have endured the intensity of Southern California’s autumn heat. Some of them are noticeably dirty, others look perfectly clear.

These lights have witnessed the sweetest of hellos, the saddest of goodbyes, and the bitterness of changing seasons.

One bulb might fail to function if the one next to it goes out, but they’re all connected to the same power source, and regardless of where they landed when I strung them, they’re filling my room with the coziest of glows right now.

I could try plugging the power prongs into anything other than the socket where they belong, but the little light spheres would then fail to do anything.

The profoundness of the venture is that it’s just like you and me. Just like me and my family.

We’ve surely weathered some of the worst conditions this year, and I’ll be the first to admit I’m the one who’s pretended to be okay, while really I’m just dusted over with my own dirty brown hue instead of shining iridescent colour.

You’ve probably seen someone lose their brilliance at some point or another, too. I’ve seen it happen; it’s truly heartbreaking to witness. So you can imagine what I’ve been feeling being this year has been anything but easy—my hue went from dusty to completely blown out within a few months.

But as I lay here, daydreaming about that crackling fire, freshly cut down tree, and snow hitting the ground; I am reminded of my love of Christmas, reminded of my fondness of what the holiday can bring.

As I sip the last of my black tea, I feel burnt out. But it’s nothing a new bulb and a little shining couldn’t fix. I know that plugged in to the correct outlet, I can—and will—light up some of the darkest of rooms even more brilliantly than these dinky little bulbs ever could.

I’ve lost a lot this year—friends, family, and even failed a few life-tests. As I sit here though, I realise not to be worried about where I land. Surely, I will illuminate whatever landscape is around me even through every storm I catch myself in.

Whether it be the loss of an important relationship or the darkness that uncertainty brings, I will see the light at the end of the tunnel eventually. No matter how much weariness it may bring, I have to realise it’s all part of lifespan of my lightbulb. The strand of lights will always work despite one or two bulbs needing to be changed, right?

I just recently read an article about what “Dark Sky Parks” are. In simplest of terms, it is an area with the darkest of skies, where the radiance of stars is intensified due to the magnitude of the darkness against which they hang.

“And many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt. And those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky above, and those who turn many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever.”

Friends, that’s my hope for 2018. I hope that through the darkness, I will be more intensified.

After all, wasn’t it the “bright star” illuminating that silent night which occurred so long ago in the first place?

My Silent Night, Uptown Maven