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I love the light.

I love it as it first peeks above the horizon, stretching as far as it can across fields and through breaks in tree branches. And I love its last good-byes in the evening as it hangs on every golden leaf it can reflect off.

Light gives me so much hope, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that God starts, continues, and ends every day with it.

And even when it is dark, there is always still a little bit of light. It is speckled in the Christmas tree and glowing around the banister. It is twinkling outside the window next to me and flickering in the candle on the table. It is gleaming from the TV in our basement in accord with commentators’ voices and fans’ yells. It rumbles by, leading car after car down the dimly-lit streets. It dances in the fireplace. Light appears on my phone with messages of “Happy Thanksgivings” and late-night catch-ups with my roommate.

Darkness is so beautiful when we allow light in. An eerily dark room can be made warm and peaceful when we light one candle. A barren, unlit living room is turned magical when we sprinkle a tree with lights and let them kiss the walls and floor.

And every room has some light in it. Some rooms are fully lit, while others only have a tiny candle in the corner. Whether it’s spilt over from the light of the hallway, or a cell phone charging, or a candle flickering, or even the smoke detector blinking its tiny bulb, there is always light.