My name is Lucy (means light), and it is the year 303 AD. Christians are experiencing the worst persecution yet, and I am one of them. Not satisfied with just taking food to the hungry, I gave all my money, including my large dowry, to the poor. My fiance was furious. He turned me into the Roman magistrate, who ordered me to burn incense to the Emperor. When I refused, they plucked out my eyes. When I still refused, they tried to take me away, but I was stuck fast to the spot and light shone from my eye sockets; so they beheaded me on the spot.
Italian missionaries brought my story, the story of Santa Lucia, to Sweden. My feast day of December 13th was long thought of to be the shortest day of the year. Swedes fell in love with my story and with the celebration of light on the darkest day of the year.
Growing up, my mom turned the celebration of Santa Lucia (getting up early and serving coffee and Lucia buns) into a Swedish dinner. When we got married, Daniel and I started hosting one for our friends as well. On the menu: Swedish meatballs from Ikea, Swedish flat bread, lingonberries, pan roasted potatoes, squash medley (because I happened to have it in the fridge), peas and broccoli. And for dessert, rice pudding and dairy free rice pudding (made with vanilla almond milk: it was my favorite), ginger cookies from Ikea, krumkakes, and Swedish Fish!
1 comment:
Wonderful post and tradition, Greta.
Cousin Carol
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