Entry 6 : An Advent Thought on Hope and Woodpeckers
December 2, 2025
Yesterday I was driving to work. Over the last week, my part of the world has shifted enough away from the sun that we felt the transition from fall into early winter. A light snow covered the ground, the sky was a marbled with clouds with hints of early morning blue peering through. While this job is not the dream, how lucky I am that I get to watch the sunrise on my morning commute every. single. day. I grieve the seasons sleep kept me from the glory of morning skies. As I let the colors of the sky settle into my spirit, I felt my nervous system calm. I felt my body take a deep breath. And I felt hope fill my longs and carry through my nerves and blood vessels down to my toes.
I know that my day will be met with obstacles that break my heart and try my patience. I know that I will stare into the beautiful faces of little ones whose families are living in constant fear of ICE, or whose families are overwhelmed with how they feed their little ones, how they will keep their house warm this winter, or how they will give their children a Christmas. I know that I get the privilege of hugging kiddos who may not feel safe at home or have stability at home. I know I get the privilege of loving on so many kiddos whose extraordinary minds and ways of interacting with the world are not typical, and thus this world is full of too much stimulation, judgement, limits and a lack of access. I also know that these resources in this online platform are reaching people all over who are working adjacent to so much suffering or are themselves experiencing suffering and struggle. Yet, the winter morning sky is forever painted in pale pinks and blues, or is softened by snow filled clouds. This work, this living needs a regulated nervous system and so I breathe deep. I smile at the beauty in the sky. How many of us miss this need? I know that I do…too often. I know that the demands can distract me from the need to take care of me. When things get busy or stressful, the first things to go are always the yoga practice, the nightly epsom salt bath, the homemade hot breakfast, the hike…the things I do for me.
This world is hemorrhaging too much for us to fight hungry, exhausted or burned out. We need ritual, routine, slowness, pauses, and wonder to fuel us to keep fighting and to keep hoping.
As I sat at the stoplight, the one that takes forever to turn, my eyes noticed the dance of a pileated woodpecker on tree adjacent to my car window. I squealed. This woodpecker has evaded me for years and this year alone, I’ve seen one 4 different times. I felt the adrenaline rush of joy as this feathered friend hop-climbed up the tree looking for a meal. I whispered “hello,” and “I love you,” as the light turned and I refocused on the road.
Hope sometimes looks like the vision of the end goal. We cling to a hope for a better world, a world were all people are free, a world without genocide and hunger, a world without racism and oppression, a world without homelessness and inaccessible healthcare. But hope also looks like the colors of sunrise or a woodpecker. It’s found in a moment that reminds us to breathe. It’s found in the reminders of how magical this world is-reminders that our inner child deeply knows.
In the mental health world, there is a therapeutic intervention called a reframe which is ultimately a strategy to shift perspective. While this strategy does not force a change, it can lead to profound change as we change our perspective. Instead of looking at this morning commute as too early after a night of too little sleep and too cold, I can see it as a drive with the rising sun and with the winter birds. A chance to notice and to take deep breaths before I am needed. Maybe it’s your morning commute, the cup of coffee made mid morning while little ones are distracted, the walk, the wait at the bus stop, the moments spent on hold, or the moment passing a window at an office with fluorescent light.
However it does, may hope find you today.
Sending love and light,
Holly