🕯️Joy: Light the way.

Advent, Week 3: All the colors, all at once

Of all the things my son loves—slime, Squishmallows, making creations from our recycling bin—I never expected him to come home with a poem about…markers.

The assignment was to fill in the blanks to explore something that he loves, and he chose markers. I’ll be honest, I was surprised he decided to zero in and write a love letter to markers. But he’s a creative soul, so I didn’t linger too much on the thought.

The colors are bright, he wrote, you hold them in your hands.

I kept reading, smirking one of those I’m-a-bemused-parent-reading-my-kid’s-school-work smirks. You know the one.

And then I got to the end.

I love markers because my mom always packs them for me.

I’m married to a pastor, and that’s weird for many reasons, including how chaotic my family’s Sunday mornings are. My husband does what he can before heading to church much earlier than the rest of us. I don’t know what you know about my family, but we are not a super peaceful morning bunch. There’s usually a child who needs to be reminded ten to twelve times about putting on socks, a tween screaming about something no one else understands, a teen oversleeping, and a little one who needs help with diapers and getting dressed. Anyway, mornings are…mornings.

In my frazzled Sunday morning state, I usually throw a pack of markers and a few notebooks into my bag to help keep them occupied.

The poem was never about the markers.

Maybe it was just about the lovely utility of a ten-pack of bold Crayola markers. Or maybe it was about how it feels to be remembered. To be seen. To be thought of and cared for, even when you didn’t ask for it. Maybe it was about how life together is wild and busy and not always full of good things, but the ones who are alongside us make it a little brighter, a little more colorful.

On this third week of Advent, we light the pink candle. I’ve never quite fully grasped why the Advent candles are purple, except for a random pink one in week three. Someone recently explained that purple represents the darkness as we wait, and the pink candle symbolizes a turning point, where things get a little brighter and joy begins breaking in.

We’re not to the white Christ candle yet, but it’s coming.

It’s the week of joy because we can almost reach out to hold the dazzling light. It’s not here yet, but it will be. And that is enough for us to have joy.

White is sometimes described as the absence of color, but it's actually the presence of all colors of light.

I told my spiritual director this week that our advent rhythm at dinner has been really simple this year, and I wonder if it has been too simple, if our kids are gleaning anything from it. We feel a little scattered, a bit harried. Everyone is hungry and squirrely and not super interested in much except playing with the lighter when they light the candle.

They might not remember the readings, she replied, but they’ll remember the rhythm. They’ll remember what it felt like to be together.

My son might not remember the Sunday sermon, but he’ll remember the markers.

In this week of advent, may joy bloom within your soul. May this joy lead to a deep exhale, where you can loosen the yoke of all the stories you tell yourself about the kind of parent you are. May you delight in the anticipatory presence of the Light, which is not the absence of color but all of it, all at once. This same Light that led the shepherds leads you today, and is indeed remembering you, making a way through heaven and earth to be near to you.

Inhale, Exhale

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(Birthday) Candles & St. Lucy

My birthday was on December 13. (Swifties may recognize this day, but I was two years earlier than her, SO THERE!) Not only do I share my day of birth with an international superstar, but I also share it with a saint!

December 13 is St. Lucia Day, a feast honoring St. Lucy, the patron saint of light. St. Lucy lived in the 4th century and was known for her unwavering faith and generosity, especially to the poor. Legend has it that she would carry food to Christians hiding in the catacombs, wearing a crown of candles to light her way. Her name, fittingly, means light, and her story reminds us that faith can light the way, even in the darkest places.

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

Growing up, I was enchanted by the Kirsten American Girl Doll St. Lucia costume and set—complete with a white gown, red sash, and crown of candles. (I’ll be honest, I was an anxious child who was quite worried about this fictional Swedish child starting a fire in her hair.)

I did not have this set (or doll, something I’ve written about extensively), but I would twirl around, imagining myself as Kirsten, gracefully and courageously leading her family with light through a cold, dark 1800s winter. (I was imaginative as well as anxious.)

I sometimes wonder that if my young parents had been liturgically minded back in the day, then perhaps they would have named me Lucy (or an even cooler spelling like Lucie) as a nod to the saint who lived so long ago, an homage to the season of light breaking into the darkness.

But alas, here I am, embracing the joyful chaos of being Kayla, born on a day when the world celebrates both saints and superstars. Good thing I was raised with a hefty serving of self-confidence and consider myself a bit of both.

I’m kidding. (Mostly.) I’ve been feeling a bit of existential dread about my birthday the past few years. This year, I wanted to be proactive rather than reactive, so I searched for the light instead of going into house goblin mode and choosing bed rotting (it’s so delightfully bizarre and slightly concerning that those phrases have become part of our modern lexicon). I made simple birthday plans with family, ordered myself a fancy gluten-free cake from a local baker, and set up plans to spend a day away with my husband.

This is what we do. We are light-bearers not just in Advent but also after all the Christmas cheer has been packed and stored.

This is our call: To bring light into the shadows in big and seemingly insignificant ways.

We find ways to light the way for ourselves and for each other.

I was snapping a photo at a holiday party, and someone said to me, “I love that whenever you’re taking a picture, you talk about the light!” I’m no professional photographer (like my friend Ashlee), but I know enough to know light matters in illuminating what matters. And that makes me wonder…

How are you intentionally chasing the light today? This week? In the coming year?

click the image for the full prayer

A Prayer for the Light

from my book Every Season Sacred

O God, You are present in every dark night that surrounds us and every looming shadow that threatens to swallow us whole.

When we wonder where the light has gone and we’re feeling our way through the dark, unsure where You are, help us to sense Your Spirit.

Spark in us a holy hope, for You are Immanuel—You are with us.

Light our way toward You.

Though we journey through despair at times, we are not alone in our cold, dark winter. You do not forsake us but call us to bear the light, reflecting and refracting Christ into eternity.

Help us to dance in your wild brilliance. Amen.

Don’t buy me anything, but…

A wonderful gift would be sharing this newsletter with a friend, purchasing a copy of To Light Their Way or Every Season Sacred, or giving one to a friend or neighbor for Christmas.

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I loved this post by

Author - Claire Swinarski

about being a good literary citizen in 2025 — something I hope to do more of in the new year!

December Reading Guide

No, you are not behind! Just hop in wherever you are and glean some inspiration.

Reading Plan For December

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The following Year of Breath edition has breath prayers for you to borrow for every day of the week during this third week of Advent. You’ll also find a curated playlist just for this week, guided reflection questions to ponder, phone wallpaper, scripture, and a benediction to send you off.

Breath Prayers for the Week

Sunday
Inhale: I am seen and loved.
Exhale: By the One who remembers me.