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As the clocks sprang forward on March 9, 2025, ushering in Daylight Saving Time (DST), I found myself marveling at the gift of extra evening light. The sun lingered a bit longer, casting its golden glow over the world, and it struck me how this simple shift could feel so rejuvenating. There’s something inherently uplifting about more daylight—it wakes us up, energizes us, and aligns our bodies with the natural rhythms of the earth. Science backs this up: more light regulates our circadian rhythm, that internal clock governing sleep, mood, and vitality. But as I reflected on this physical blessing, a deeper parallel emerged—how the light of God, embodied in Jesus, does the same for our spiritual lives, illuminating our souls and guiding us toward wholeness.
Daylight Savings Time, for all its quirks and controversies, offers a practical lesson in the power of light. Researchers have long noted how exposure to natural light boosts serotonin levels, sharpens focus, and helps synchronize our circadian rhythm—the 24-hour cycle that tells our bodies when to rest and when to rise. Studies, like those from the National Institute of General Medical Sciences, show that longer daylight hours reduce sleep disruptions and even lower rates of seasonal affective disorder. It’s no wonder that, as the days stretch into March, I feel a renewed pep in my step, a clarity that comes from basking in the sun’s rays a little longer. More light, it seems, is undeniably better for us humans, grounding us in the physical world we were designed to inhabit.
Yet, this earthly light pales in comparison to the spiritual light we’re offered through Jesus Christ. In John 8:12, He declares, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” Just as sunlight regulates our bodies, the divine light of Christ regulates our souls, pulling us out of the shadows of sin, confusion, and despair. I’ve felt this in my own life—those moments when prayer or scripture pierces through a fog of doubt, much like the sun breaking through a cloudy day. The more I turn toward that light, the more aligned my spirit becomes, attuned to a rhythm not of clocks but of eternity.
The parallel isn’t lost on me: DST extends our days, giving us more time to live, work, and connect under the sun, while God’s light extends our spiritual horizons, illuminating paths we might otherwise miss. Both require us to adjust—whether it’s resetting a clock or reorienting our hearts—but the reward is a fuller, more vibrant existence. The Psalmist writes, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Psalm 119:105), and I see this mirrored in how daylight guides my daily steps, keeping me from stumbling in the literal dark. Jesus, as the ultimate source of light, does this on a cosmic scale, banishing not just physical darkness but the deeper gloom that can settle in our souls.
Of course, DST isn’t perfect. Some grumble about lost sleep or question its modern relevance—fair points, given its origins in energy conservation rather than human biology. But spiritually, there’s no debate: more light from God is always better. Unlike the sun, which sets each night, Christ’s light never fades. It’s constant, available even in our darkest hours, offering hope where daylight alone can’t reach. And just as I relish these longer evenings, I find myself craving more of that divine radiance—through worship, reflection, or simply sitting in His presence.
As March unfolds and the days grow brighter, I’m reminded that light, in all its forms, is a gift. The extra hour of sunshine lifts my mood and regulates my body, while the eternal light of Jesus restores my spirit and sets my life to a sacred rhythm. Both reveal a truth woven into creation: we were made for light. So, I’ll embrace this season—clocks adjusted, heart open—grateful for the sun above and the Son who reigns, each shining in their own way to make life not just bearable, but beautiful.
