On Christmas eve, forsythia bloomed in my church. Brilliant yellow blossoms brightened the dark that night. I'd brought them in as bare branches at the beginning of December. They looked dull, grey, and dead at that time. I haven't forced forsythia in December before, but I often do for Easter. I told folks that, based on experience, we would have blossoms on Christmas Eve.

After two weeks, I began to wonder. We set the thermostat at fifteen degrees during the week, but the sanctuary is colder than that. At home, by the middle of December, the buds had all bloomed. At the church, they had barely started to swell by that time. A week later, there were two flowers and a couple green shoots. I was not sure the space was warm enough for the forcing to work.

But spring isn't much warmer than that, and outside, nights get cold. With fingers crossed, I kept the branches there. At home, we got to enjoy the sun-bright colour for a few days. Then, the blossoms started to fade and had to be thrown out before family came. At church we waited.

Waiting was the point. Joy doesn't come in an instant. Sometimes enjoyment anticipated does not arrive when we expect good to come. Dark times can endure long past what we thought we could handle. Winter can seem to last forever. We know that calendar will shift to March and April, but we have had springs when the snow and cold, the grey dismal days seem unending. Daffodil bulbs are somewhere underground, but some years, the flowers take forever to appear.

The surprise of brilliant yellow blossoms in December is a reminder that joy, happiness, relief, can take us by surprise. Release from pain may seem to take forever to arrive, but then, somehow, our tight closed heart opens. The heaviness that weighs us down is lifted. There is a crack that lets the light in, that opens us to good.

Having branches bloom for Christmas is a reference to the ancient Hebraic prophet Isaiah who said that a new shoot would grow from the stump of Jesse. Isaiah saw that the kingdom was not doing well with the threat of invasion. They remembered the time when Jesse's son David had led their land into a golden age. Though the golden age was gone, Isaiah assured his people that something new would grow from a stump that had been cut off and seemed dead.

Having flowers for Christmas also reminds me of a medieval song: "Lo how a rose e'er blooming from tender stem hath sprung, of Jesse's lineage coming, as seers of old have song. It came a blossom bright, amid the cold of winter when half spent was the night."

Watching bare branches turn to brilliant yellow is a reminder that life is strong. Good can come. No matter how dark the days, brightness can return. It may be slow in coming. The waiting may be hard to endure. And some end up in the dark of winter for a long, long time. But given care and warmth, given hope and patience, joy returns as sure as spring.

Cathy Hird lives on the shore of Georgian Bay, where ice is just starting to build on the rocks.