Hope, Joy and Anticipation

It seems fitting that Advent comes in the season where light becomes increasingly fleeting. I have begun flinging open the blinds on our windows, scant insulation be damned, just to get a few rays into the house. Too much light, too fast, blinds us and throws our world into disarray. Too little light and we stumble around, hoping that our eyes will acclimate. If we are impatient, if the light comes too slowly for our tastes, we begin charting new paths, we stop trusting and begin rollercoastering into anxiety.

As my little girl chirps and plays at my feet and I savor the last bite of a buttery, flakey pecan pie crust I'm wondering what I want out of advent this year. This season of anticipation is not about getting and wanting, but about waiting, hoping and praying...even still.

I want to see miracles. I want to experience the miracle of a virgin conceiving, the grace of her fiance, the hope and light coming to earth, of Emmanuel. I want the miracle of peace when the storms are raging, because in this early season for many they are already under siege. The miracle of families coming together, of paltry ingredients coming together to make a feast, of a skittish cat who assimilates into a new house. Peace in the storm would truly be a miracle, the next three weeks are going to be intense at work. Maintaining the miracle, the focus on grace and love and hope during the coming days is something I long for.

As the light builds, may my vision be expanded.
May I not flail around for a foothold, but may I cling to hope and joy.
In times of dark and uncertainty, glimmers of light may illuminate my path.
May I anticipate, may I hope, may he come
Emmanuel.

There can be miracles
When you believe
Though hope is frail
It's hard to kill.
Who knows what miracles
You can achieve
When you believe
Somehow you will
You will when you believe.