Winter Solstice at Our Little House
Today is the Winter Solstice, or the shortest day of light throughout the entire year. It would have also been my mother’s 86th birthday.
When she was a kid, she used to feel cheated, thinking she had a birthday on literally “the shortest day of the year.”
Actually, it is fitting my mother was born on this day, in the middle of a blizzard in Chicago, as Winter Solstice celebrations have long been about a day of celebrating re-birth, the beginning of the end of the darkness of winter.
For many years, she was also the light of our family and I could always draw upon her strength to see me through any dark time.
From here on out, our days will become longer, if only by seconds and a few minutes at first, but before you know it, we will be looking beyond the cold and gray and at the rebirth of spring.
I will be celebrating Winter Solstice today by taking in the wonder of the beauty around me here in the Ozark Mountains. We often call this time of year here “The bare time,” as it seems so bare and ugly as we survey the mountains from afar.
However, every day I walk from Our Little House to the Belle Writer’s Studio, I’m reminded of how lucky we are to be in such a place, even in the barest of winter.
And there’s no day more appropriate to remember the hope of longer light than the shortest day of the year.
Did you know that the original celebration of Christmas actually began centuries before the birth of Jesus as a celebration of the Winter Solstice and that recognizing Jesus’ birth during that celebration was a way for the Church to get people to accept the celebration as a religious, rather than a secular holiday?