Winter had stilled the land. In the darkness of December, the days seemed shorter than ever, and the night sometimes felt as though it wanted to swallow every color. But in the small Veterans’ House on the edge of the village, one light never went out: the lantern by the entrance.
Every year at Christmas, that lantern was lit by someone carrying a special story. This year, it was Daniel’s turn—a veteran who had long since come home, yet still fought battles with memories that sometimes whispered louder than he wished. His young daughter Noor walked beside him, her hand warm and small in his.
“Dad,” she asked softly, “why do we have to light the lantern?”
Daniel smiled, though he had to swallow a tremor in his voice.
“Because light only truly has meaning when you share it,” he said. “And anyone who has ever walked through darkness knows how important it is to see a light.”
Inside the house, other veterans and families gathered. Some stood close together; others kept a little distance—each with their own story, their own silence. But all of them were waiting for this moment. Not because the lantern itself was so special, but because the ritual connected them: to one another, to those they had lost, and to those who had carried them while they were away.
Daniel knelt by the lantern. For a moment, he hesitated. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was his old comrade, Ruben.
“You’re not alone,” Ruben said. “You never were.”
With those simple, honest words, Daniel found the strength to strike the match.
The small flame flickered, unsteady in the cold air. But when it caught the wick, warm light filled the glass of the lantern. Its glow fell on faces, on eyes that had seen so much, and on smiles that slowly returned.
Noor looked up at her father.
“See?” she whispered. “Light always wins over darkness.”
And for the first time in a long while, Daniel felt she was right. Not because the darkness disappeared, but because they carried it together. The light was not a symbol of perfection, but of courage—the courage to rise each day, to hold on to one another, to not walk alone.
That evening, as everyone sat together inside, warm and close, it felt as though the lantern’s light was carried away within each of them. A quiet promise that as long as people held one another’s hands, no one would ever stand completely in the dark.
And so Christmas became a celebration of shared light—a light that, through veterans and their families, burned brighter than any winter night.
Debbie Hellenbrand
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