Awake!

Last night I drove up to the airport on the darkest, shortest day of the year, in the rains that have persisted, to retrieve our daughter for the Christmas holidays.  Luckily, traffic was light and we came home to a warm house filled with her brothers and her sister and her niece and nephew and lots of hugs and laughter and good food and singing.  Happy Birthday.  Jingle Bells.  And some song the boys learned at camp about not washing black socks.  (What???)  

And sitting there, it was as though Grief had no choice but to step aside and say: “Oh, I see why it’s so hard to let me sit here with you.”  To be sure, the joy was tinged with sadness.  Bruce is everywhere we are.  That is both the beautiful and the hard truth.  But in the warmth of that evening, all of the light and goodness he shared were present in healing ways.  

The day had started with the observance of the Fourth Sunday in Advent.  In this particular liturgical year, we hear the story of Joseph on that Sunday.  We remember that God needs all of us and that God often offers us unexpected ways forward when the paths seem to offer nothing good.

My grandgirl helped me carry the light into the Sanctuary to light the Advent wreath.  We handed it off to our middle school acolyte, whose kind eyes greeted us and who lit the wreath - all four of those candles - with aplomb. 

So many people have asked or commented or just wondered aloud how hard this season must be for me.  And here’s the truth of it, at least my truth:  every day is hard.  Every single one.  And to have the world wrapped in twinkle lights and Christmas trees and Advent wreaths and hopeful stories and family gathering in and coming home and singing songs together….that actually helps.  It reminds me that Bruce and everyone else I’m missing in this season (love you, Jenny) were light-bearers in my life.  They brought so much joy and love and compassion into the world and into who they were to me.  That is what I miss.  But they were here, and how lucky and wondrous is that?  So, every twinkling light and every candle flame and every kind person reflects that light back to me.  

Today dawned bright and clear and I am glad for it.  It reminds me of the Advent hymn we sing so merrily:  Awake!  Awake!  And Greet the New Morn.  I’ve included it below.  The third and fourth verses have been such a gift in this particular year. 

My posting schedule will be a little different between now and the New Year, but I’ll be here from time to time, just not always on Monday morning.   Different isn’t bad.  Different, like a Messiah that arrives as a baby,  reminds us that love is born when we least expect it.  

 Awake! Awake, and Greet the New Morn

Awake! Awake, and greet the new morn, 

for angels herald its dawning.

Sing out your joy, for soon he is born, 

behold! the Child of our longing.

Come as a baby weak and poor,

to bring all hearts together,

he opens wide the heav'nly door 

and lives now inside us forever.

To us, to all in sorrow and fear, 

Emmanuel comes a-singing,

his humble song is quiet and near, 

yet fills the earth with its ringing;

music to heal the broken soul 

and hymns of lovingkindness,

the thunder of his anthems roll 

to shatter all hatred and blindness.

In darkest night his coming shall be, 

when all the world is despairing,

as morning light so quiet and free, 

so warm and gentle and caring.

Then shall the mute break forth in song, 

the lame shall leap in wonder,

the weak be raised above the strong, 

and weapons be broken asunder.

Rejoice, rejoice, take heart in the night, 

though dark the winter and cheerless,

the rising sun shall crown you with light, 

be strong and loving and fearless.

Love be our song and love our prayer 

and love our endless story;

may God fill ev'ry day we share 

and bring us at last into glory.