"people living in the land of the shadow..."

There is a weight to grayness in Klaipeda, in November, that is smothering. Add to the greyness the fact that the day begins around 9 and starts to dim again at 4. It hardly matters, though, because the only difference between night and day is that instead of dark gray, things are pale gray. We still have 3 weeks to go before solstice, when the loss of daylight will stop, but with losing 4 minutes a day, that's over an hour of light still to be lost. Someone once told me about a glowing orb in the sky which makes things bright. I forget what it's called. Remind me?

In addition to feeling smothered by weather (or more accurately, like the cloud cover is sitting on my chest, making it impossible to breath, then stuffing my head with cotton and immobilizing my limbs), I'm also buried underneath 120 Academic Writing projects that need to be handed back by Wednesday, so that I'm able to intake 60 more next weekend, and the week after that. This explains both why I haven't blogged in awhile, and why I'm procrastinatorily posting now! I think the dread of beginning to mark such a stack always outweighs the actual process.

My consolation is that soon, soon, soon I will be back in the land of sunshine and mountains. Reading back over those paragraphs I see I'm a typical candidate for seasonal affective disorder, and that I'm more than typically affected by landscape and weather. If you live in a place where you have seen sunshine this week (or even last), get down on your knees and thank God for it.

Another consolation to this darkness is that I feel it must put me in an Advent frame of mind more thoroughly than if I were living somewhere bright. This time in the church calendar is all about waiting, enduring the darkness of God's absence in those moments before He made good on all those promises to ancient Israel. This is the time of the remnant of Israel keeping watch in the centuries of darkness that preceded The Light of the World's arrival in human form. Imagine holding onto the hope that God would again shine His face on His people, even hundreds of years after they had been lost into exile.

And then... finally....

One favorite piece of music this time of year is the German poem, "Break Forth O Beauteous Heavenly Light," which Bach wrote music for in 1734:

Break forth, O beauteous heavenly light,
And usher in the morning;
O shepherds, shrink not with fright,
But hear the angel’s warning.
This Child, now weak in infancy,
Our confidence and joy shall be,
The power of Satan breaking,
Our peace eternal making.

The words and the music together, the promise in them, and the soaring melody, constantly heal me. This is the gospel - not fear, but light breaking through darkness, our JOY and CONFIDENCE that Christ has broken Satan's power and made way for peace. Eight lines, a few measures, but this is everything.