Michael and I are talking about going to a family reunion in January, a Baptist family reunion. It is the first Baptist event that has caught my imagination in a long, long while. The purpose is not to start a new denomination but to establish connection and respect between many Baptist groups. There will be African American Baptists and white Baptists, liberal Baptists and evangelical conservative Baptists, political Baptists, southern Baptists and northern Baptists, many races, cultures and theologies but all Baptist. Some of the public Baptists like Marian Wright Edelman and Bill Moyers and Jimmy Carter have earned my respect through the years for the living out of their calling in the glare and gaze of an often unsympathetic culture. Other Baptists attending and leading have lived their calling as pastor or teacher or lay person or minister at large somewhat removed from the hurly burly world of public religion but all are searching for what is common and shared among them, not what divides them. There will be women ministers, women pastors of churches and folks who don’t believe women should be ordained in this group, probably. There will be Republican and Democratic Baptists but political affiliations are not the measuring standard for this group. The planning committee has chosen Jesus’ words from his first (and only) sermon in his hometown as the guiding light for this gathering.
Jesus quoted Isaiah... "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord" as his text. Jesus then announced that this scripture had been fulfilled that day, in Nazareth, in that synagogue, and everyone was so pleased. They were bragging on Joseph’s boy. The RSV version says "They wondered at the gracious words that proceeded out of his mouth."
But then Jesus began to meddle. He reminded them that God had done wondrous things for all God’s children, not just the Jews. God had used people from alien lands and religions and cultures to accomplish great things. They were filled with wrath and launched a lynching party, pushing Jesus out of the city and up to a cliff where they intended to push him over. Just like us, whatever our religious identification, our first instinct is to cast out the one who bears a message we do not want to hear.
This powerful text calls Christians to follow in the steps of Jesus and Isaiah by tending those who are overlooked and undertended. It reminds us that we are all strangers in a foreign land and the only way we can survive is to care for one another. Those who can, do and those who need, receive. The give and take, the receiving and giving, flow from the Source, The Spirit of the Lord. Often when I find myself weary of peace and social justice work, I need a balancing act. The Spirit of the Lord, the seeking first for the Source of our Being, the Love that called us all into existence must be the Ground on which I stand, the Rose that lifts my spirit with a sweet fragrance, the Breath that keeps me living in hope, love, joy and peace during times that offer precious little of them. And when I read this text, I find all the doing of good flows from the Spirit. Battle fatigue sets in when we forget to whom we belong and do not visit the Home Place often enough.
"Who are your people?" is a question heard throughout the South and a question that demands an answer. My people are the ones who love God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit in all the shapes and forms and names that we have created to describe the indescribable. My people are the ones doing the work of the Lord in many different ways... visiting women’s prisons, visiting the nursing homes, working to abolish the death penalty, serving as guardian ad litems, sitting with the old and the young, bringing food to the grieving, serving meals at the shelter, those who provide shade in a weary, hot land that has little mercy for the weak and weary.
So bless you all, you angels of mercy who spring from the Source and walk among us as bright beacons of the Light. You are my people and I am proud of you, my kinfolk. May we all, whatever our calling and however we define our faith, remember from whom we come and to whom we will return. May the Spirit of the Lord fall upon us all these holy advent days so that we might show how greatly we have been loved by the breadth and width of our love for others. Amen.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Friday, December 7, 2007
bottle my tears...
"Thou hast kept count of my tossings; put thou my tears in thy bottle!" Psalms 56:8
Tossing and turning... night time exercise in bed... tears that come with holidays along with smiles... we are programmed, hard wired for both. So often, however, I find myself impatient with my tossing and turning as if it were some lack of faith or my inability to control my brain that produces this restlessness, this combination of joy and sorrow and worry.
Since childhood, night and darkness have felt comfortable for me. I have never been afraid of the dark. Perhaps my comfort comes from hours spent sitting on porches watching twilight and dusk creep into the yard with darkness gentling over us as we sat, rocked, talked and listened to the katydids and whipoorwills sing. Observing the coming of darkness was a daily ritual in the summer time that followed the early evening meal.
Winter time darkness had a different quality. Because of the cold and the early darkness, my sister and I would come in from outdoor play and sit by the huge old oil heater that dominated the landscape of our home. Light from the single light bulbs hanging down from the ceiling bathed us in a soft amber glow as we ate supper, did our homework and went to bed. As I lay in my little bed in the shed bedroom I shared with my sister, the winter night lights kept me company as I waited, waited, waited for sleep to come. Even as a child my tossings made sleep an often tardy visitor.
In my childhood there were very few "security lights", large malls bathed in night light, or down towns that glowed all night long with street lights. Darkness surrounded us and we were able to see and find the gifts offered when the sun went down. We heard mysterious rustlings of unknown life passing us by. The half light of the stars and moon softened the sharp outlines of the day and we spoke softly, moved slowly, and listened carefully. Our daytime energy was transformed into a night time peace if we would take the time to sit, wait, watch and listen.
The star light and moon light are constant reminders of my finitude and a comforting wonder at the magnitude of God’s creation. I live in the country so I can see the stars, sometimes the Milky Way. In our town the ambient light has erased all but the brightest stars from the sky. On my drive home from teaching last night I began to drive up the hill to our home and looked up. I stopped the car in the driveway, got out and looked up. What had been a dull sky in town was now filled with stars and planets reflecting their tiny shiny lights down on me. I don’t know much about the physics of stars or the facts about their creation. But I do know that in that moment, my tossings stilled and I marveled at the dark night polka dotted with mysterious star light. Tears were bottled. Hope... blessed hope... the first gift of Advent wrapped in star light and given to me last night on the way home to Sabbath Rest Farm. Thanks be to God for tossings and turnings and bottled tears that come in the blessed darkness to help us see beyond the dark to the star shining in the east... the Light that is coming to live among us, Emmanuel.
Tossing and turning... night time exercise in bed... tears that come with holidays along with smiles... we are programmed, hard wired for both. So often, however, I find myself impatient with my tossing and turning as if it were some lack of faith or my inability to control my brain that produces this restlessness, this combination of joy and sorrow and worry.
Since childhood, night and darkness have felt comfortable for me. I have never been afraid of the dark. Perhaps my comfort comes from hours spent sitting on porches watching twilight and dusk creep into the yard with darkness gentling over us as we sat, rocked, talked and listened to the katydids and whipoorwills sing. Observing the coming of darkness was a daily ritual in the summer time that followed the early evening meal.
Winter time darkness had a different quality. Because of the cold and the early darkness, my sister and I would come in from outdoor play and sit by the huge old oil heater that dominated the landscape of our home. Light from the single light bulbs hanging down from the ceiling bathed us in a soft amber glow as we ate supper, did our homework and went to bed. As I lay in my little bed in the shed bedroom I shared with my sister, the winter night lights kept me company as I waited, waited, waited for sleep to come. Even as a child my tossings made sleep an often tardy visitor.
In my childhood there were very few "security lights", large malls bathed in night light, or down towns that glowed all night long with street lights. Darkness surrounded us and we were able to see and find the gifts offered when the sun went down. We heard mysterious rustlings of unknown life passing us by. The half light of the stars and moon softened the sharp outlines of the day and we spoke softly, moved slowly, and listened carefully. Our daytime energy was transformed into a night time peace if we would take the time to sit, wait, watch and listen.
The star light and moon light are constant reminders of my finitude and a comforting wonder at the magnitude of God’s creation. I live in the country so I can see the stars, sometimes the Milky Way. In our town the ambient light has erased all but the brightest stars from the sky. On my drive home from teaching last night I began to drive up the hill to our home and looked up. I stopped the car in the driveway, got out and looked up. What had been a dull sky in town was now filled with stars and planets reflecting their tiny shiny lights down on me. I don’t know much about the physics of stars or the facts about their creation. But I do know that in that moment, my tossings stilled and I marveled at the dark night polka dotted with mysterious star light. Tears were bottled. Hope... blessed hope... the first gift of Advent wrapped in star light and given to me last night on the way home to Sabbath Rest Farm. Thanks be to God for tossings and turnings and bottled tears that come in the blessed darkness to help us see beyond the dark to the star shining in the east... the Light that is coming to live among us, Emmanuel.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
It's not all sweetness and light...
I spent the afternoon with Mary Etta yesterday. She is a poet and a dreamer who has a call to nursing that has been lived out in many places and many ways. Old age and illness have slowed her body down but her spirit runs and leaps still in green fields of joy. Remembrances of our growing up in north Florida and south Georgia ran faster than our mouths could speak. Our age differences are as naught because we share a common history in many ways.
Remember when it was cane syrup making time? The brothers would gather and strip the cane the night before. Everyone would rise early to watch and work as the mule pulled the cane mill and the juice flowed into a barrel. Neighbors and family visited and there was always an adult peeling short pieces of cane for children to chew... candy straight from the fields. The juice cooked in a large, flat iron kettle over a fire that was carefully tended to keep it at the right temperature. I have one of those kettles in my flower bed now. The cane juice would bubble and cook down, constantly being stirred and skimmed. It took talent and knowledge to produce good cane syrup. Just like making candy, you had to know when the right time came to remove the liquid from the heat. And, in those days before candy thermometers and gas fires, it was a knowledge that came with years of watching and doing. Even the masters of the craft could on occasion miss the mark and produce an inferior syrup. Cane syrup and biscuits... Mary Etta and I had watering mouths as we remembered eating the home grown and home cooked cane syrup of our youth.
Advent is cane syrup making time for the soul. We are gathering ourselves together in the pre-dawn darkness, gathering our busy holiday lives up and bringing them to the cane mill at church where we can be transformed. Our juice flows into the kettle and we watch, anticipating the sweetness to come. The rituals of Advent, like the rituals of syrup making, are steps along the way that lead us to new light, a light that returns year after year as we wait and watch for the birth of the Light Bearer, Jesus Christ.
And like the syrup makers of my childhood, knowledge comes with practice. My first Advent celebrations were happy, banner making, table decoration, church decoration, Christmas tree trimming explosions of joy as I waited for the coming of the baby Jesus. As the years have passed and Advent seasons have passed the forty year mark for me, I see more of the skill required to fully celebrate Advent.
This is a season of darkness and light. The Bible is very clear in its description of the time before... Isaiah the Old Testament prophet and Matthew the disciple use the same words... "The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light has dawned." We sit during these days in the region of the shadow of death, remembering the past and hoping, having faith in the dawning light.
Every morning now when I wake up, it is dark outside my window, too dark to see the mountains in the distance or the dead locust woodpecker tree. If I wait, lie quietly in my bed, I can watch the light come, slowly creeping up over the far mountains until my whole world is once again bathed in winter light. I wake up every morning with hope and faith... hope for the quality of light that will provide warmth and illumination... faith that once again, like so many mornings before, light will come. God said, "Let there be light" and so it has been... light in the star that both marks the place and leads the way to the Christ Child. Mary Etta and I are waiting this Advent season in the darkness before dawn for the star light to shine on us, showing us the way to go, helping us find the stable where Jesus waits for us... new light, fresh syrup for the homemade biscuits of our lives.
Remember when it was cane syrup making time? The brothers would gather and strip the cane the night before. Everyone would rise early to watch and work as the mule pulled the cane mill and the juice flowed into a barrel. Neighbors and family visited and there was always an adult peeling short pieces of cane for children to chew... candy straight from the fields. The juice cooked in a large, flat iron kettle over a fire that was carefully tended to keep it at the right temperature. I have one of those kettles in my flower bed now. The cane juice would bubble and cook down, constantly being stirred and skimmed. It took talent and knowledge to produce good cane syrup. Just like making candy, you had to know when the right time came to remove the liquid from the heat. And, in those days before candy thermometers and gas fires, it was a knowledge that came with years of watching and doing. Even the masters of the craft could on occasion miss the mark and produce an inferior syrup. Cane syrup and biscuits... Mary Etta and I had watering mouths as we remembered eating the home grown and home cooked cane syrup of our youth.
Advent is cane syrup making time for the soul. We are gathering ourselves together in the pre-dawn darkness, gathering our busy holiday lives up and bringing them to the cane mill at church where we can be transformed. Our juice flows into the kettle and we watch, anticipating the sweetness to come. The rituals of Advent, like the rituals of syrup making, are steps along the way that lead us to new light, a light that returns year after year as we wait and watch for the birth of the Light Bearer, Jesus Christ.
And like the syrup makers of my childhood, knowledge comes with practice. My first Advent celebrations were happy, banner making, table decoration, church decoration, Christmas tree trimming explosions of joy as I waited for the coming of the baby Jesus. As the years have passed and Advent seasons have passed the forty year mark for me, I see more of the skill required to fully celebrate Advent.
This is a season of darkness and light. The Bible is very clear in its description of the time before... Isaiah the Old Testament prophet and Matthew the disciple use the same words... "The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light has dawned." We sit during these days in the region of the shadow of death, remembering the past and hoping, having faith in the dawning light.
Every morning now when I wake up, it is dark outside my window, too dark to see the mountains in the distance or the dead locust woodpecker tree. If I wait, lie quietly in my bed, I can watch the light come, slowly creeping up over the far mountains until my whole world is once again bathed in winter light. I wake up every morning with hope and faith... hope for the quality of light that will provide warmth and illumination... faith that once again, like so many mornings before, light will come. God said, "Let there be light" and so it has been... light in the star that both marks the place and leads the way to the Christ Child. Mary Etta and I are waiting this Advent season in the darkness before dawn for the star light to shine on us, showing us the way to go, helping us find the stable where Jesus waits for us... new light, fresh syrup for the homemade biscuits of our lives.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
birds of a feather... friends of a feather
The white car pulled up in front of our house and Fran got out. We came out and hugged all round before we came back inside. It had been some years since we had actually laid eyes on one another. We were pew buddies at church, our sense of the absurd kicking into gear at the most inopportune times, leaving us shaking with silent (mostly) laughter, until we could regain control, then descend into giggles again when we caught each others eye. I taught her two children in Sunday School and loved them. They gave me as much pleasure in friendship as their parents.
Our catching up conversation, accompanied by pictures, quickly morphed into Velveteen Rabbit quality sharing. Our worn and tacky places, the spots where we are broken, some healed, some not, were offered up in the communion that comes when true friends, who can say anything to one another and it will be alright, do. Our joys and sorrows, our struggles, our family stories were the melody of the conversation song with a descant of giggles and laughter as we drank the bottle of wine Fran brought as a peace offering. Fran knows her wine and I found myself drinking a mighty fine red wine(Herederos del Marques de Riscal Elciego Rioja Reserva 2003). I don’t usually like red wine but I drank that wine with gratitude and laughter, two perfect feeling accompaniments for communion.
I sometimes wonder how our observance of communion would be if we used the best wine money could buy, like the water Jesus changed into wine at the wedding... if we laughed and like Carol’s grandson, made silly faces at one another as we came down the aisle... if we held up all our worn and broken places to be inspected and tenderly embraced by loving hands...if we got a little giddy on the fine wine of grace and gratitude for the gifts of body and blood poured out for us... if we could shed tears for one another’s sorrows and offer our bodies as wailing walls standing strong in the midst of great grief... if we could pour out our blood and laugh and giggle as we, like children taking blood oaths, share the red wine of life with each other, sacrificing our lives for each other.
Here we all be, sinners all, gigglers and weepers, funny faces and sorrowful faces, young, smooth faces and faces as old as Methuselah, some whose voices soar and stay on pitch and some who croak along in joyful noise, those who run freely and those who walk with canes and roll in chairs, fat, thin and in-between, meat eaters and vegetarians, all welcome at the extravagantly prepared Table of God. What we each need, sits on our plate. What we do with the gift of the table is up to us. We can choose to sit and eat or like Judas, rise and leave early before the Velveteen Rabbit times begin.
I am so very grateful, so unspeakably thankful for all the friends in my life who are a living communion table for me. Friendship, true friendship, is such a rare and fine wine indeed. I am also grateful for the ritual of communion, the remembrance of the body and blood of Jesus. This person lived here on earth as a Son of God, came as a baby boy and grew into his manhood just as we all grow into our adult bodies. This one named Jesus sat with his friends, shared a holy meal and bared his soul to his friends knowing his death was close at hand. In spite of this knowledge, or maybe because he knew, he chose not to run away but to stay, to wash the feet and eat the bread and drink the wine. This ritual sustains and feeds my soul in the company of other believers. Friends of a feather who flock together, gathered around in remembrance of all that was and in hope for all that is yet to come. Amen and amen. You wanna drink the wine?
In memory of Heather who died this week after nineteen years of life, surrounded and held by the loving arms of her family.
Our catching up conversation, accompanied by pictures, quickly morphed into Velveteen Rabbit quality sharing. Our worn and tacky places, the spots where we are broken, some healed, some not, were offered up in the communion that comes when true friends, who can say anything to one another and it will be alright, do. Our joys and sorrows, our struggles, our family stories were the melody of the conversation song with a descant of giggles and laughter as we drank the bottle of wine Fran brought as a peace offering. Fran knows her wine and I found myself drinking a mighty fine red wine(Herederos del Marques de Riscal Elciego Rioja Reserva 2003). I don’t usually like red wine but I drank that wine with gratitude and laughter, two perfect feeling accompaniments for communion.
I sometimes wonder how our observance of communion would be if we used the best wine money could buy, like the water Jesus changed into wine at the wedding... if we laughed and like Carol’s grandson, made silly faces at one another as we came down the aisle... if we held up all our worn and broken places to be inspected and tenderly embraced by loving hands...if we got a little giddy on the fine wine of grace and gratitude for the gifts of body and blood poured out for us... if we could shed tears for one another’s sorrows and offer our bodies as wailing walls standing strong in the midst of great grief... if we could pour out our blood and laugh and giggle as we, like children taking blood oaths, share the red wine of life with each other, sacrificing our lives for each other.
Here we all be, sinners all, gigglers and weepers, funny faces and sorrowful faces, young, smooth faces and faces as old as Methuselah, some whose voices soar and stay on pitch and some who croak along in joyful noise, those who run freely and those who walk with canes and roll in chairs, fat, thin and in-between, meat eaters and vegetarians, all welcome at the extravagantly prepared Table of God. What we each need, sits on our plate. What we do with the gift of the table is up to us. We can choose to sit and eat or like Judas, rise and leave early before the Velveteen Rabbit times begin.
I am so very grateful, so unspeakably thankful for all the friends in my life who are a living communion table for me. Friendship, true friendship, is such a rare and fine wine indeed. I am also grateful for the ritual of communion, the remembrance of the body and blood of Jesus. This person lived here on earth as a Son of God, came as a baby boy and grew into his manhood just as we all grow into our adult bodies. This one named Jesus sat with his friends, shared a holy meal and bared his soul to his friends knowing his death was close at hand. In spite of this knowledge, or maybe because he knew, he chose not to run away but to stay, to wash the feet and eat the bread and drink the wine. This ritual sustains and feeds my soul in the company of other believers. Friends of a feather who flock together, gathered around in remembrance of all that was and in hope for all that is yet to come. Amen and amen. You wanna drink the wine?
In memory of Heather who died this week after nineteen years of life, surrounded and held by the loving arms of her family.
Monday, December 3, 2007
scooping the poop
Two of my friends, Caleb and Katy, came to work at the farm last Saturday. This was their first job for pay and they were very good workers. The first job was picking up all the scrap wood around Junie B’s new fence. Then the wood boxes for three houses needed to be filled with kindling and wood. The final job was scooping the poop.
One of the ways we are reducing the amount of hay we need to feed is by letting the cows out to graze on the unfenced hay fields. Naturally they do not stay on the unfenced fields but roam at will, ending up in my side yard for their siestas. I must admit as the daughter of a farmer, it is sweet to look out my window and see Ferdinand the bull in all his humongous splendor, resting and chewing his cud. His calm friendly phlegmatic personality always gives me pleasure and reminds me of my daddy. The little bulls cuddle up next to him and they lie in a family circle, all the boys snuggled up together. They drink from the old syrup kettle in my side flower bed that was their water source on my parent’s farm. I have to watch and make sure the koi don’t get left high and dry. All this cow activity in my yard results in large deposits of cow poop, a veritable minefield of poop, that snags the unwary and unaware. So before the grandchildren come for Christmas, we needed the poop scooped.
I handed Caleb and Katy two shovels and gave them instructions... scoop the poop, put it in my flower beds, rake the left overs so they will dissolve when we get rain. Katy’s shovel was a little heavy and the piles were really big but she managed to scoop by dividing the piles in half. It didn’t take long for the yard to be cleaned up. We leaned on our shovels and surveyed the yard, proud of our work, and watched as Ferd wandered through the front yard pausing long enough to deposit another fresh pile.
On this first day of Advent, I am reminded that my life, like my yard, needs some cleaning and clearing. During the past year I have often wandered on my way and lost the hopeful expectation of love, joy and peace. Piles of frustration, grief, hopelessness, hurt and anxiety dot the landscape of my heart weighing my soul down, keeping me stepping from one little clearing to another without a sense of direction or purpose. Before I can celebrate Advent, I must stop and settle, survey my soul’s yard and begin clearing away the messes left from the year past. It will require an examination, a close look at the painful places, the messy piles, so I can honor them as silent witness to my passage through the year 2007. My darkness, my shadow self is a balance for the reflection of my shining soul.
Darkness is as necessary to our soul’s growth as it is for flowers to bloom. Poinsettias and Christmas cactuses require a certain amount of darkness or they cannot bloom. My soul cannot bloom without time spent in the night that gives time for rest and renewal and recognition of my truest self. In darkness I can see the places where I have faltered, stumbled, wandered, hurt myself and others, lost the sense of the Presence that calls me to the light.
In honoring my imperfection, I can release my failures, ask God’s forgiveness and once again search for all the hope, love, joy and peace that surround me everyday. After I have passed through the darkness of Advent, the dark night of soul cleaning, new light will come. I will see clearly again, walk without worry, wait for the coming of the Christ Child with a whole hearted soul, clear eyed vision, songs of praise and a straight path full of hope, love, joy and peace. "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who have dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has the light shined." May it be so, Lord, this Advent. I yearn for the light to shine on me. And, I want to be your Light for those around me. Let me be light, let me walk in light, let me share the light, let me see your Light, let me find your Light in my life this Advent Season as I walk through the land of deep darkness.
One of the ways we are reducing the amount of hay we need to feed is by letting the cows out to graze on the unfenced hay fields. Naturally they do not stay on the unfenced fields but roam at will, ending up in my side yard for their siestas. I must admit as the daughter of a farmer, it is sweet to look out my window and see Ferdinand the bull in all his humongous splendor, resting and chewing his cud. His calm friendly phlegmatic personality always gives me pleasure and reminds me of my daddy. The little bulls cuddle up next to him and they lie in a family circle, all the boys snuggled up together. They drink from the old syrup kettle in my side flower bed that was their water source on my parent’s farm. I have to watch and make sure the koi don’t get left high and dry. All this cow activity in my yard results in large deposits of cow poop, a veritable minefield of poop, that snags the unwary and unaware. So before the grandchildren come for Christmas, we needed the poop scooped.
I handed Caleb and Katy two shovels and gave them instructions... scoop the poop, put it in my flower beds, rake the left overs so they will dissolve when we get rain. Katy’s shovel was a little heavy and the piles were really big but she managed to scoop by dividing the piles in half. It didn’t take long for the yard to be cleaned up. We leaned on our shovels and surveyed the yard, proud of our work, and watched as Ferd wandered through the front yard pausing long enough to deposit another fresh pile.
On this first day of Advent, I am reminded that my life, like my yard, needs some cleaning and clearing. During the past year I have often wandered on my way and lost the hopeful expectation of love, joy and peace. Piles of frustration, grief, hopelessness, hurt and anxiety dot the landscape of my heart weighing my soul down, keeping me stepping from one little clearing to another without a sense of direction or purpose. Before I can celebrate Advent, I must stop and settle, survey my soul’s yard and begin clearing away the messes left from the year past. It will require an examination, a close look at the painful places, the messy piles, so I can honor them as silent witness to my passage through the year 2007. My darkness, my shadow self is a balance for the reflection of my shining soul.
Darkness is as necessary to our soul’s growth as it is for flowers to bloom. Poinsettias and Christmas cactuses require a certain amount of darkness or they cannot bloom. My soul cannot bloom without time spent in the night that gives time for rest and renewal and recognition of my truest self. In darkness I can see the places where I have faltered, stumbled, wandered, hurt myself and others, lost the sense of the Presence that calls me to the light.
In honoring my imperfection, I can release my failures, ask God’s forgiveness and once again search for all the hope, love, joy and peace that surround me everyday. After I have passed through the darkness of Advent, the dark night of soul cleaning, new light will come. I will see clearly again, walk without worry, wait for the coming of the Christ Child with a whole hearted soul, clear eyed vision, songs of praise and a straight path full of hope, love, joy and peace. "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who have dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has the light shined." May it be so, Lord, this Advent. I yearn for the light to shine on me. And, I want to be your Light for those around me. Let me be light, let me walk in light, let me share the light, let me see your Light, let me find your Light in my life this Advent Season as I walk through the land of deep darkness.
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