As we near the longest night of the year, children bearing candles light the streets of northern Europe in honor of St. Lucy. The scene gushes with innocence and promise and hope and a startling disregard for fire safety. The heart warms as the feet go cold, and then the mind wanders: do the kids know the fate of the woman they emulate? That tapers like the ones they hold were used to light her pyre? Incidentally, how does one say “eyes plucked out” in Swedish?

In other words, do these kids – does anyone – know how much the light costs? Lucy did. And unlike those processing in her name, Lucy knew that sometimes the only way to find the light is to be absolutely still. The legend goes that St. Lucy, sentenced to life in a brothel, stood her ground. Scores of guards – even a team of oxen – could not move her an inch. Admitting defeat, the guards finally built the pyre around her.

So here we are approaching the darkest night of the year, and we look to St. Lucy to guide the way. Our instinct is to grab a candle and join the parade, but perhaps following St. Lucy means something else entirely. Perhaps it means stepping off the parade route – just for a moment – to watch where it leads and wonder if that is really the direction we are supposed to take.

Advent is a season of thoughtful preparation, not mindless activity. Make every step count this holiday season, and when the world pulls you off-course, dare to stand still. Someone paid dearly to give you one small candle with which to face a big, big night. Now, where exactly are you going to go with it?