When I looked into it more deeply, though, I wondered if I might be starved of living light rather than merely of sunlight. So I adjusted what I was doing, and found my suspicions well-founded.
I love sunny days. But . . .
. . . if I have firelight
and starlight (in good company with Jesus who is the living light)
and dawn light
and the slanting light of the afternoon
then I find my soul is fed with the wonder and mystery it needs to stay steadily strong.
And it is a mistake to think of a fire
as merely a heat source.
If you have a fire in your home, you have a pet dragon.
A fire eats and breathes, it speaks, it is full of personality and different every day. A fire is a friendly companion, with the added spice of being distinctly and uncompromisingly dangerous; the sort of friend who can destroy your living room in under two minutes and think it's funny.
Having a fire on your hearth is akin to inviting the sea to live with you, or swapping out your roof for the starry sky like Jesus did. Elemental.
I respect the experience and testimony of those who experience SAD. Without doubt it is a thing.
I humbly offer the view that it is a thing one might deepen and worsen by going into the winter with central heating and closed curtains.
Living light makes life better.
All living light. And firelight, after all, is the sunshine stored in the remembering heart of a tree. I am thankful for the trees who gave their lives that I might be comforted all through the cold dark months of winter by living light. What a treasure. What a precious and wonderful gift.