We talk a lot about light this time of year — candles shining in windows, trees flickering aglow, homes wrapped in twinkle lights that make the ordinary feel magical. 

But the light that matters most doesn’t come from bulbs or decorations. The kind that matters is the kind we carry; the kind we offer; the kind we share.

This issue of Discovering Bulloch is shaped by people who do exactly that, right here in Bulloch County. 

None of them seek attention. None of them expect to make headlines. Yet each of them has found quiet, meaningful ways to give of themselves — not because they were asked, and not because they were trying to make a statement, but because they believe that this is the kind of light worth sharing.  

Take 16-year-old Ava Mincey, who started selling lemonade in middle school and has since raised more than $20,000 for the Alzheimer’s Association. She didn’t wait until she was older; she didn’t wait for the perfect plan. She just got to work — one cup, one conversation, one relationship at a time. The light she shares is sweet, hopeful and full of heart.

Then there’s Philip Roesel, a volunteer pilot with Angel Flight who donates his skill — and his wings — to help patients reach medical care they couldn’t otherwise access. He says it’s hard to call it service when he’s doing what he loves. He simply calls it flying — but it’s much more than that: It's a willingness to show up when it matters most. His light is the kind that can weather any storm.

A leatherworker, teacher, entrepreneur and Army veteran, Curtis Woody has shaped a life around service — sewing, sharpening, repairing, mentoring, creating, and restoring what others might discard. His story is a reminder that skills and talents are gifts, and using them to lift others is one of the purest forms of giving. His light comes from purpose, guided by the belief that what we do with our hands reflects what’s in our hearts. 

Finally, there’s Kathy McCombs, a special education teacher in her 38th year who sews wheelchair blankets and other custom items for her students. She doesn’t do it for recognition; she doesn’t even like being photographed. She simply sees a need and quietly meets it. Her light is steady, humble and compassionate, warming others from behind the spotlight.

This is what generosity looks like. This is what community looks like. This is how light is shared.

Not through perfection, but through participation.

Not through grand gestures, but through consistent ones.

Not through having everything to give, but through giving what you have.

This season, I hope these stories remind you that light doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t wait for ideal circumstances, and it doesn’t worry about who’s watching. It simply shines, through small and steady acts of goodness that illuminate the world around us.

That’s the light we’re celebrating this month:

Light you can carry.

Light you can give.

The light we all share.