As I was sitting and writing before daylight, I thought of the sun and how it will rise, it always does, but we might not see its face. These are the gloomy times in Pittsburgh, but the days are not without daylight. Then I thought of the hostess who gets up hours before her guests – tidies up, sets out a little breakfast, maybe the newspaper in eras bygone, starts some coffee, and then goes off to take care of some personal chores. The guests get up, amble down to the breakfast nook, and say: well, I guess there’s no more hostess, certainly don’t see her.
No. They don’t say that. Because there is evidence everywhere. There is care and lovingkindness. There are warm scones and fresh coffee, and grapefruit halves with toothy spoons. Just look outside, you might see her up the hill, in the garden. Or you might not, but when the grasses are waving above, be sure she’s on her knees behind the tussock, digging in the dirt.
So perhaps it is with the spirit at Christmastime. Around. Doing things. Tiny joys. Invisible wonders.
And sometimes radio silence.
Welcome to the season. A light shines in the darkness
and
the darkness has yielded.
Post 3 of Waiting: An Advent Series