Halfway through Winter: Candlemas and the Ways We Celebrate the Longer Lengths of Light

We are at the halfway point of winter--halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. Today is Candlemas, where Christians celebrate the presentation of Jesus at the Temple, and pagans long ago celebrated the goddess Brigid (and the feast day of St. Brigid was yesterday), and some Wiccans today will be celebrating at Imbolc, or a variation of any number of pagan holidays. It's also Groundhog's Day. It's one of those times when we can almost perceive the shifting of the seasons. It's not spring yet, but it will be soon.

And even medieval people tried to predict the rest of the weather for winter; witness this rhyme:

If Candlemas Day be fair and bright,
Winter will have another flight;
But if it be dark with clouds and rain,
Winter is gone, and will not come again.

If you're a candle person, in medieval times, the monastery would bless the candles for the coming year on this day. It seems like a good time in the life of our nation to light some candles and pray for illumination.  You might ask, "When is it ever not a good time in the life of our nation to light some candles and pray for illumination?"

I am feeling both weary today and grateful.  Yesterday my spouse had both a colonoscopy and an endoscopy at the same time.  The preparations for the scopes were not as difficult as we had heard it could be:  nothing explosive, nothing uncontrolled in the emptying process.  And the scopes themselves and the recovery were easier that I was afraid that they might be.

In the last months of 2021, my spouse had been having lots of digestive upset and pain and blood, so the good news of yesterday is that there is no lasting damage.  There were some polyps, very tiny, which could be removed.  And it didn't take as long as we thought it was, which was both good and bad.  I spent most of the morning in the car, which was fine, although I had looked forward to some alone time in the condo, some time to get some seminary work done, which is easier when I am alone.

Instead, we had a lovely afternoon of fried chicken, wine, and cheese and crackers.  We talked about various options for the future.  My spouse crunched some numbers, and I crunched them in a different way.  Last week, I had read my offline journal as I wanted to remember how we had come to the decision to sell the house.  I am acutely aware of how we travel the decision making process thinking we are planning for one thing, only to find ourselves navigating something else altogether, while at the same time being blown offcourse by all the elements we can't foresee.

Yesterday I had an idea for a poem which I want to record here, in the form of a first line:  On the feast day of Saint Brigid, I drive my spouse to the colonoscopy.

I am dreading the rest of the work week, as we gear up to combine campuses.  Today is a day of planning for our accreditation visit--of course, I thought we would be doing that planning last week too.  While on the ground, I can't imagine how we will ever get the campus back into shape in the two months that we have before the accreditors arrive.

So, let me go for a walk.  Let me look for the light seeping back into the sky.  Let me get a bit more centered before facing the day.  Let me look for longer lengths of light.