Seasons of Light

The seasons are shifting. In the frigid frontier we call home, winter rarely gives way to summer overnight. The change comes quietly, noticeable only to those watching for small signs that the world is waking again: birdsong returns, pussy willows bloom, and the slow breakup of river ice. But perhaps the most obvious sign is the steady return of light.

In Alaska, daylight returns gradually. In January, the days are short as a long blue twilight settles heavily over the land. The sun barely lifts above the crest of spruce-clothed mountain peaks before slipping away again. By March however, the sun lingers longer in the sky, lengthening shadows across the snow and causing rooflines to drip. Compared to the deep darkness of winter, life suddenly feels brighter. Before long, daylight will spill across the land as summer returns in its full glory, bringing nights brilliantly illuminated by the midnight sun.

Living in Alaska teaches something about light: it is not constant, but grows and fades with the seasons. Perhaps spiritual light works in much the same way.

In the creation story, God did not create only one light for the earth. Instead, we read that He placed “lights in the firmament of the heaven…for signs, and for seasons…the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: the stars also…to divide the light from the darkness: and God saw that it was good” (Genesis 1:14-18). Each celestial body shines differently, offering lessons about how God guides us through the changing seasons of our own lives.

The first of these lights is the sun, “the greater light to rule the day” (Genesis 1:16). When it shines, darkness retreats and the world comes into clear focus. The writer of Proverbs taught that “the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day” (Proverbs 4:18). As Alaskans, we know something about seasons of abundant light. When summer arrives, the midnight sun stretches the day far beyond what seems possible, allowing one to see for miles in every direction long after darkness would normally fall.

At times, God grants spiritual light in much the same way. There are seasons when truth feels unmistakably clear, and the direction of our lives seems brightly illuminated. In such moments, faith can feel almost self-evident. As C. S. Lewis observed, “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.” Living according to Jesus Christ’s teachings helps us see the path ahead and understand more clearly the choices, blessings, and purposes He has placed before us.

The second light is the moon, “the lesser light to rule the night” (Genesis 1:16). Unlike the sun, it does not flood the world with brightness. Rather, it reflects light softly, helping travelers move safely even when the path is dim. The Psalmist reminds us, “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path” (Psalm 119:105), showing that God’s guidance can be subtle, yet sufficient.

In Alaska, winter twilight casts long shadows across snow-draped hills and frozen rivers, the pale moonlight giving just enough glow to navigate carefully. Oftentimes, spiritual light works the same way. Seasons come when clarity is partial, yet the Lord still guides us step by step. As Dieter F. Uchtdorf taught, “God’s light is real…It can illuminate the path before us and lead us through the darkest night into the promise of a new dawn.” We can trust that even in our darkest nights, Christ’s light—like the gentle glow of the moon—can quietly guide each step until brighter days return.

The final light is the stars, the ones God set in the sky at creation (Genesis 1:16–17). Unlike the sun or moon, they do not flood the world with brightness; they are faint beacons in heaven, visible only when we look closely. In Alaska, a winter night can feel endless, the sky dark and vast, yet stars glint on snow-draped ridgelines, and the aurora ripples faintly across the horizon—tiny reminders that the night is never truly empty.

As Steven R. Lund has explained, “Our experiences with the Spirit may seem best measured in micro-lumens rather than lightning bursts, but especially in our darkest hours…if you watch for them, flickering assurances of God’s love for us will become evident…a composite panorama of countless bursts of light.” I have noticed these flashes in my life; I call them “God winks”: an uplifting call from a friend, a favorite song on a bad day, or a small treat left at my doorstep by an unseen, angelic hand. These pinpricks of light testify that God is near, even when the night seems endless, if only we have eyes to seek them.

Just as the long winter nights in Alaska eventually yield to the midnight sun, the seasons of spiritual light in our lives change according to God’s timing. As the Preacher teaches, “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Sometimes God gives light like the sun, other times like the moon, and sometimes only as faint stars, yet each is sufficient for the season we are in—it is good.

Ultimately, Jesus Christ is the Light of the World (John 8:12), and as Isaiah promises, “The sun shall be no more thy light by day; neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee: but the Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light” (Isaiah 60:19). Brighter than the sun, gentler than the moon, and more constant than the stars, Jesus’ light fills every season of our lives—we need only look up to see it.

Avery Palenske is bewildered at how fast time marches along. Between endless group projects, office deadlines, wedding receptions to attend, and books to read, her Google Calendar is booked and busy every second of every day. But life is better when it's full of good things, and the best part of her life is the opportunity to worship weekly in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.