I grew up in a small town in Nova Scotia where the weather at best is described as 10 months of winter and two months of bad sledding. There isn't a whole lot of sunlight during the winter. In high school, this meant going to school at 8 a.m. in the pitch dark, and returning home in the dark around 4:30 p.m.

One early December afternoon, exams were approaching and I had some questions for a teacher. I stayed after class and ended up taking longer than expected. I searched the hallways, but my friends were long gone. I was on my own. It was a small town, no buses. Outside, winds were gusting and the flurries had started. I went to my locker and loaded up my backpack with all my textbooks to prepare for my exams as well as my clarinet to take home to practice. My locker was desperately lacking the sensible mitten, hat and scarf that would have made my looming walk home less daunting, but alas, I was a teenager and being warm wasn't cool.

When I left the school, the cold engulfed me. I buried my nose into the collar of my jacket and shuffled toward home through the snow as quickly as I could. As I progressed, I was dreading the turn that would point me both uphill and facing directly into the wind.

I turned the corner, waiting for that arctic blast. Something caught my eye. I bravely lifted my head and was greeted by a warm red glow. The first Christmas lights of the season! They lit up the dark night and seemed to reflect off every snow-covered surface. It wasn't an extravagant display or an extraordinary house. In each of the bedroom windows was a single red-bulb Christmas candle. I started to smile. I knew the family who lived there and thought of how excited the two boys would be anticipating Christmas.

Those simple lights heralded in Christmas, lifting me out of the snowy streets. I forgot about my heavy backpack, my toes numbing in my shoes and the clarinet case frozen to my ungloved fingers. They whispered of times and joys to come of Christmas celebrations, concerts, parties and caroling, gingerbread and hot chocolate, of life slowing down and my family and friends being together.

The highlight was always Christmas Eve, when everyone came home. The college students were on break, and our huge, lofty church for one night was standing room only. The cold seemed to melt away, and I began to smile as I recalled the previous Christmas Eve, packed in like sardines.

My cold, dark, lonesome walk was over and forgotten! My head was awash with memories and eager anticipation of Christmas.

That's what hope is. It's the small feeling, action or belief that grows from out of nowhere. That's the true power of hope — it's a small bright guiding light in a dark, cold winter night.

On its own, it doesn't solve anything, it doesn't take the cold away, it doesn't flood the area with light; it reaches further than that. It enters the soul, the heart and the brain and whispers the promise "and this too shall pass" and awakens the human spirit.

Heather Barnhill attends Kailua's Christ Church Uniting Disciples and Presbyterians.