Winter's Light

The Light That Stands With Us

There are moments when creation speaks in a language older than words, older than our questions, older than the winter air that holds our breath in its hands.

This morning’s sundog was one of those moments.

A single sun…

flanked by two pillars of fire,

held in a halo of refracted glory,

stretching across the sky like an ancient covenant.

It reminds us that Light does not stay singular.

When it appears, it multiplies.

It reveals its hidden faces.

It stands with us in threes:

Presence, Protection, and Guidance.

Earth, Spirit, and Heaven.

What is, what was, and what is yet unfolding.

The center of the sundog burns golden-white

a brilliance that feels less like sunlight

and more like revelation.

A reminder that The First Light

the point of divine origin,

still pulses at the heart of all things.

Even in winter.

Even in silence.

Even in seasons where we brace ourselves against the cold winds of uncertainty.

The side pillars rise like watchmen

glowing witnesses on the horizon.

They whisper that we are flanked, surrounded,

escorted by a Presence that stands on both sides of our journey.

The ice crystals that formed them

tiny hexagons drifting unseen

refract ordinary sunlight into something extraordinary.

Into something that stops us mid-step

and tells our spirit:

“I am with you in the small things.

In the hidden things.

In the things you cannot see forming

until they break open into glory.”

Winter, with all its quiet ache, becomes a cathedral.

The snow a sanctuary.

The horizon an altar.

And the sky

oh, the sky

a reminder that Heaven bends its light just enough

to let us know we are seen,

held,

and accompanied.

This is the beauty of divine refracting:

Light bends, but never breaks.

It shifts, but never disappears.

It becomes more, not less, in the process.

May this sundog be a sign to your heart:

That alignment is happening in places you cannot yet name.

That the pillars are already standing guard.

That the path is lit from both sides.

And that even in the coldest seasons,

the First Light

still rises.

And it rises for you.

• Chaplain Shawnna Schmidt