Working as a gardener in northern Scotland, I was acutely aware of the dying sunlight. Every morning I paused to notice the oak seedling that struggled toward the light in the hallway outside my bedroom. The thin stem had dropped its leaves at the same time as all of the outdoor oaks in early October. As the shortest day approached, I wondered if this tiny seedling would bud and leaf in sync with the oaks outside. When I awoke on solstice morning, I was astonished to discover the oak seedling had erupted overnight with two perfectly formed green leaves. Somehow this sapling knew, from her roots to the tip of her stem, that the light had been reborn. I pray for the same courage, the same faith to unfurl new growth when all the external world seems barren and lifeless.

Working as a gardener in northern Scotland, I was acutely aware of the dying sunlight. Every morning I paused to notice the oak seedling that struggled toward the light in the hallway outside my bedroom. The thin stem had dropped its leaves at the same time as all of the outdoor oaks in early October. As the shortest day approached, I wondered if this tiny seedling would bud and leaf in sync with the oaks outside. When I awoke on solstice morning, I was astonished to discover the oak seedling had erupted overnight with two perfectly formed green leaves. Somehow this sapling knew, from her roots to the tip of her stem, that the light had been reborn. I pray for the same courage, the same faith to unfurl new growth when all the external world seems barren and lifeless.