May you be gentle with yourself

on this longest night.

May you not rush the darkness away,

but rest within it,

trusting that it holds wisdom,

quiet work,

and holy becoming.

May you notice the smallest return of light —

a breath that steadies,

a candle flicker,

a hope barely whispered.

May you remember

that slow does not mean stalled,

and waiting does not mean empty.

As the light returns,

second by second,

may your heart open the same way —

patient, trusting, and unafraid.

And may you carry this truth with you:

the light is faithful,

the dawn is sure,

and you are held

through every long night.

Amen.