Day 21: Did You Maintain Hope?

A poem from guest contributor Dorothy Fillmore

Happy Winter Solstice! Winter solstice always carries both good and bad news, much like a lot of life. Today is the shortest day and longest night of the year, which means that from this day forward (until the summer solstice), each day will be a about a minute longer. I’m a big fan of longer days so I always feel a sense of relief when the winter solstice arrives, and we start gaining a little more light.

At the same time, the winter solstice marks the start of winter, my least favorite season. I start getting cold in November and typically find it hard to warm up until March-at least here in Virginia. When I lived in Michigan, the cold descended in October and sometimes didn’t relent until May. I remember one summer in the 1990s that never seemed to get warm, and it was not uncommon to go to our cabin in the woods near Traverse City for Memorial Day weekend and dig snow.

So, the winter solstice brings both light and cold. My task is always to balance the two—to enjoy the ever-increasing light each day and to find ways to keep myself warm. It’s certainly a lesson in balance—one that feels like standing a top the middle of a teeter-totter trying with all my might to keep both sides off the ground.

Today, I share with you a poem from a friend and subscriber, Dorothy Fillmore, about hope and death, an appropriate topic on this day of death and rebirth.

Paper Flames

by Dorothy Fillmore

The Talmud says that one of the four questions asked at death is, Did you maintain hope?

Imagine my gratitude when Death,
asks, Did you maintain hope,
instead of Did you maintain your car
or your weight – things only attended
when a red light appears
on the dashboard or my pants won’t zip.

When Death asks, Did you maintain hope,
I’ll see the chalice on my dining room table.
My wife and I write names down – sometimes
our own names - on torn
slips of paper. We arrange the slips
to look like flames around a small
battery-powered candle which sits in the bowl.

The bowl holds George, my brother, hospitalized
with sepsis. Later when he dies, it holds
all of us. The bowl holds Precious,
a dog whose toe needs to be amputated.
The bowl holds Gary, our HVAC man,
who tells us about his wife with cancer
while he checks our air conditioner.

When Death asks, Did you maintain hope,
I tell him about Dan, a Rhode Island fireman,
who I saw on a TV cooking show. When asked
about his dish, Dan says, we’re hoping for the best
but generally what I find in life is hope is not
a good strategy.

When Death asks, Did you maintain hope,
I’ll remember grinding my teeth in my sleep
during the Trump years. Fear
at the rising COVID death toll. More
Black men and women murdered
while going about their daily lives. Gun
violence and the corresponding lack of action
from compromised policymakers.

The bowl holds all we name and so many
we do not. Sometimes
All we can do is make paper flames,
I’ll say when Death asks.

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Dorothy Fillmore lives in Richmond, VA with her wife, Lisa, and two dogs, Rascal and Cricket. Still figuring out life after retirement, she currently loves to camp, read, write poetry, take road trips, and volunteer.

Today’s Reflection

What does the winter solstice mean to you? How might you honor this day that requires us to bring our own light?

Think about a loved one who has passed this year and remember the light they brought into the world. Write a story about a time when they shared light with you?

As you reflect on Dorothy’s poem, how would you answer God’s question, “Did you maintain hope?” Are there strategies you can employ in the new year that will make it more likely you can answer, “yes?”

With hope in my heart,

Annette