When Barbora returns in white and about Barbora

This morning I went outside to look around where I will hunt for Barbora tomorrow😉 December 4th will be the feast of Saint Barbara.

The air was crisp, my fingers were slightly tingled with frost, but I needed it. Find the right cherry branch. It will be a ritual. One of those quiet, beautiful ones that connect us to the women before us – to mothers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers. I stand in front of an old cherry tree, which must be over fifteen years old. I stroke the rough bark and choose. Not this one, it's too thin. This one has nice buds. Yeah, I'll definitely take this one.

I'll prepare a vase at home. And then I'll just wait. I'll check every day – are those tiny green tips there yet? Is it budding? Will it bloom?

Tradition says that if the twig blooms by Christmas Eve, we will have good luck. In the past, it meant that the girl would get married within a year. Today… today it could mean anything. That something we carry in our hearts will come true. That next year will be good. That we are on the right track.

Do you remember Barborky? Not the branches – but the characters.

In the nineteenth century, on the evening of December 3, girls would walk through villages wrapped in white sheets, their hair loose over their faces or hidden under veils. In one hand, a basket of apples, nuts, and gingerbread. And in the other hand… a broom.

They walked in silence. Sometimes they knocked, sometimes they just walked in. They sang a song about Saint Barbara, prayed with the family. The good children got fruit and sweets. The naughty ones? Well, they got whipped.

There's something almost fairytale-like about it, don't you think? That white figure in the Advent darkness, bringing gifts and lessons. Tenderness and severity in one.

This year I will cut three branches.

I didn't have any suitors like girls used to, who named each branch after a boy and waited to see which one would bloom first. (Imagine that – standing by a vase and thinking: "Come on, Václav, don't let me down!" 😊)

But I have my own wishes. Quiet, private and very important! And the twigs somehow… know. As if in those buds is everything we expect from next year. Health. Well-being. Happiness of our loved ones.

I change their water every day. I talk to them. A little crazy, right? But it works. I can already see the first green tips. Something is alive in them. It's waking up.

Her story is a harsh one. A virtuous, educated girl who was locked in a tower by her father. Then he even killed her himself because she refused to deny her faith.

Today I think about it differently than I did as a little girl. Today I'm a really big girl and I see in it the strength of a woman who couldn't be broken. Who knew what was important to her - and stood by it. Even when it hurt. Even when it cost everything.

And those barbies – those white, mysterious figures? They were actually women who brought the message: be kind to others, have purity in your heart, and happiness will come. Nooo – Isn't it beautiful?

This year, I invite you, dear girls, to go out to the garden or the forest, a little outside the city, or at least buy a twig at the market.

And then:

• Place it in a vase with clean, fresh water.
• Put it somewhere you will see it every day – like by the window
• Talk to her. Yeah, really. Tell her what you expect from next year.
• Change its water every day or two.
• And watch

Watch the buds turn green. Watch them open. Watch life sprout from the dead, dry wood.

That's Advent. That waiting. That hope that even from what seems dry and dead, beauty can bloom.

Imagine Christmas Eve. The table is set, the candles are burning, everyone is slowly gathering. And you look at your Christmas tree – and there… there is one tiny, fragile, white flower.

It is blooming.

In that moment, you know that next year will be good. It may not be perfect. It may not be easy. But there will be happiness. The essential happiness, the real happiness.

Barbora returns to us every year in white. In white twigs, in white flowers, in a white Advent morning.

It brings us a message: wait, hope, don't be discouraged. And happiness will come.

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When I was young, I thought this was all nonsense. Superstition. A coincidence whether a twig blooms or not.

Now that I'm over fifty, I know – I see it differently.

It's not important whether it works. What's important is that it teaches us to wait. To care. To hope. And to believe that beauty can grow from something small and inconspicuous.

And that's what Advent is all about, isn't it?

So, will you take your scissors and go to Barborky? 🌸

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PS: And if the twig doesn't bloom... don't worry. Try again next year. Sometimes we just need more time. Barbora will understand. ❤️

Advent 2025: A time of hope, light and beautiful traditions