PHOTO: Mary van Balen This year my advent wreath is simple: blue candles in two glass candelabra from my parent’s home. I will add a few things as I unpack a holiday box, but simplicity remains the theme.. The old candelabra remind me of my parents’ waiting in hope for the birth of each of their children. I arrived after a number of miscarriages. The youngest was an emergency delivery and my father was told that likely neither mother or child would survive. They didn’t know my mother’s sheer willpower, and my brother inherited her tenacity. Both survived.
Each night as I light the candles, I will remember their faith, hope, and love, and bring it into my prayer. Dad’s recent death has left a hole in my heart. Thanksgiving was difficult for me this year. Christmas will be, too, I imagine, though I will have all my daughters home to celebrate.
In today’s Morning Prayer reading from Isaiah (43.1-3a) God reassures us: we are redeemed. God calls us by name and is with us when we walk through difficult times. Despite life’s changes, including the death of loved ones, this season speaks of hope. Candle flames illuminate darkness as God’s Presence fills the earth and our hearts.
Taking some time to be still each day allows us to become aware of that Divine Presence in and around us. The gospel from today’s Mass (Mk 13.33-37) recounts Jesus’ instruction to his disciples to “watch” and “Be alert!” Like servants taking care of their master’s estate while he is away, we are to remain watchful and prepared for his return.
What are we to watch for? This Advent, I am watching for God’s Presence already here in my life. Being present to the moment instead of planning ahead, going over Christmas lists in my mind while doing other things, or allowing myself to become too busy to be still with the Holy One.
When I am in my “wide awake” mode (as I tell students who want to wrtie) I notice all kinds of things and unlikely connections often come to mind.
For example, while driving to work today, I noticed some yellow cascading down toward the ground along the freeway. “Forsythia” was the first word to come to mind, though the next ones were “I’s late fall, Mary, not spring.” But the connection had been made. As I drove by the spot of color I saw it was made by yellowing ovate leaves clinging stubbornly to branches on a shrub. They did remind me of the yellow spring blossoms on curevd branched.
In the middle of fall and on the edge of winter, I saw spring and hope. I carried the image with me into the department store where I work and tried to remember it when blaring Christmas songs irritate or the consumerist rush overwhelms.
Advent: A time of hope and waiting. A time to Watch and Live Wide Awake. A time to give thanks for those whose lives have been like candles in our darkness.
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