The Day After the Solstice

The Solstice came and went quietly yesterday.

No fireworks.
No dramatic shift.
Just the steady turning that has been happening all along.

I always feel something settle in the day after. A soft exhale. As if the year itself pauses long enough to say, you made it here. The longest night is behind us now, and even if we can’t quite feel it yet, the light has begun its return.

This day has become one I treasure. Not for what it announces, but for what it allows.

Looking Back, Gently

I’ll be honest. December has always been a hard month for me.

It carries memory, absence, and the weight of years layered one on top of another. There are moments when the season feels tender in ways that are difficult to name. For a long time, I thought I had to push through that discomfort, to move past it quickly.

This practice has taught me something different.

Honoring the Solstice has given me permission to embrace my feelings, whatever they are. Not to fix them. Not to explain them. Just to let them be present alongside the beauty of the season.

When Beauty and Tenderness Share the Same Space

There are moments when it all comes together in the most unexpected ways.

Like standing in a room on a Solstice night, listening to children sing beautiful Christmas songs, their voices clear and unguarded, surrounded by people you love and cherish. In moments like that, the heaviness softens. The beauty doesn’t erase the ache, but it sits beside it, offering warmth.

Those moments remind me that joy doesn’t require the absence of sorrow. They can exist together, quietly holding hands.

A Year That Unfolded Differently

This year did not begin the way I thought it would.

There were early days filled with uncertainty. Plans shifted. Expectations unraveled. At times, the path ahead felt unclear, and not in a poetic way.

And yet, as this year comes to a close, I can say this with a grateful heart: it has wrapped itself up in ways I could not have imagined.

I have been blessed by our Creator in ways I could not have seen arriving. Through people, conversations, opportunities, and moments that revealed themselves only once I was already walking forward. Looking back, I can see how grace met me along the way, not always where I expected it, but always right on time.

Blessing, in Both Directions

One of the gifts this season has reminded me of is this: when you are able to bless another person, you are often being blessed as well.

There have been moments when a simple conversation, a shared tear, or an unexpected embrace revealed that I had crossed paths with someone in the middle of a struggle I knew nothing about. In those moments, it becomes clear that you may have been part of an answered prayer without even realizing it.

Sometimes, the embrace afterward is all that’s needed. No words. No fixing. Just presence.

I no longer question why I meet people. I trust now that there is always a plan, a rhyme, a reason. And sometimes, that reason is simply to remind us of the goodness of God, made visible through one another.

Intention Without Expectation

As I look toward 2026, I do so with hope, but without demands.

Much like when I travel for shows, I carry a simple expectation: I will meet cool people, and I will enjoy my time, however it unfolds.

That way of moving has changed me. There is freedom in being intentional without being attached to outcome. In showing up open-handed. In trusting that blessings will meet us along the path as we are traveling through it.

The Quiet Work of Winter

Winter invites us into a slower, deeper kind of work.

It is the work of reflection, rest, and discernment. Of choosing what to carry forward and what can finally be laid down. It may not look productive from the outside, but it is deeply formative.

This is where roots strengthen.
Where vision clarifies.
Where the heart steadies.

An Invitation for Today

If you’re reading this today, the day after the Solstice, I invite you to pause for just a moment.

Light a candle.
Take a breath that reaches all the way down.
And ask yourself gently:

What am I allowing myself to feel right now?
Where have I noticed beauty or blessing meeting me, even unexpectedly?

There is no rush for answers.

A Thought to Carry

As you move through the days ahead, notice where the light is already returning in your own life. Not all at once, not loudly, but quietly and faithfully. Let this season be an invitation to honor where you are, trust what is unfolding, and remain open to the blessings that meet you along the way.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
— Madeleine L’Engle

“Weeping may endure for a night,
But joy comes in the morning.” —Psalm 30:5 (NKJV)