Joy: Pink Not Purple
Letters from Light, Advent Poems
Many Decembers ago, in what feels like a different lifetime, I was beyond overwhelmed. Along with serving in a local church, I was in my last year of seminary. What little downtime I had was spent working on a final 30+ page theological reflection and writing my commissioning papers to submit to the Board of Ordained Ministry.
One very cold snowy night, after a loud scream and a good cry, I knew I needed a change of scenery. But the weather wouldn’t allow me to go anywhere. So, I decided I’d go in the front yard. And make a snow angel.
Laying on the freezing, snow covered ground, moving my arms and legs in angelic rhythms, I discovered more than I imagined and everything I needed.
Joy. I felt Joy. Joy filled me from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. My heart was lighter. My stress was lower. My fears and doubts dissipating. That small part of me that just wanted to quit was revived.
Joy is not easy for me. It’s a struggle any time of year and especially during the holidays. I resist it. Downplay it. Keep it at the bottom of the to-do list. Yet every time I open myself up to Joy, something beautiful happens.
Last weekend, I lit a pink candle and just sat with Joy. Naming my wonders and voicing my worries. Asking Joy how to be and why to be joyful in a world, where violence ignites the sky seemingly more often than the stars.
Here’s the poem for week three of Advent, the week when Joy is shining and extending an invitation to tenderly tend to the lights within and around us. Take a listen and a read. Make some time this week for snow angels and other joyful encounters. Reflect on where you experience Joy and when Joy feels out of reach.
Joyfully Yours,
Rebecca & 10CAMELS
Pink Not Purple ©Rebecca Wilson, December 2025 you know me for what I’m not the candle that is not purple do you ever wonder why are you afraid to know the reason you skip right past the questions reach for the matches find another pretty family to light me continue rushing through another busy season my pink wax drips onto the perfectly pleated cloth one will get upset another try to pull it off some kid might even try to eat it will anybody inquire about my story year after year you unpack me and set me here more tolerated than celebrated difference noted and unappreciated here and gone it’s not just in your waiting but in your living all year long I’m the candle you cast your angst upon no, we can’t feel joy not until every task is done every unwinnable battle is won joy’s reserved for the young and feeble we can’t be joyous as trouble blankets the land we can’t laugh, dance, blow bubbles stop googling and giggle pause scrolling to wiggle swap crystal ornaments for construction paper chains glass bulbs for cardboard trains make snow angels in oversized suits wear grandma’s slippers as our boots frost coming through our knitted mittens joy is off limits until perfection is complete only then to hear the preacher say perfection will never be you treat me like rest a lack of it your trophy and prize the busiest bird gets the worm the wokest minds refuse to sleep no rejoicing until all is merry and well we’ll sing when every sorrow is unmasked joy will be the bell tolling the end of our grieving all the while missing the point for isn’t this the meaning of the miracle we’re anticipating that in the midst of warring madness love is incarnating peace is percolating hope is ruminating joy is more than our awaiting activated by participating here now pink not purple shining messes on wobbly tables art on guarded altars ruffling feathers wrinkling linens of tradition let go of what I’m not ask me who I am
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What a great definition of JOY:
“I discovered more than I imagined and everything I needed.” I’m going to look for joy today.