Wednesday of the Second Week of Advent

O Lord, you know all my desires,
   and my sighing is not hidden from you.  Psalm 38:9

In the late afternoon I go scrounging for chocolate. I don’t keep it in my office anymore, in an effort to be better about snacking. But I know where the nearest available candy dish resides. I take a small saucer with me as I go, in order to bring some sustenance back to my lair. I still have a lot of work to do.

I find myself selecting the candies by color, choosing the blue ones for the season. I would choose purple if that were an option, as that is my preferred Advent color. I add some red and green ones for good measure, and because there aren’t that many blue ones. Even in my private indulgence, I find a way to mark the season.

But as I contemplate my choice, and the small ritual I have created around this foray, I realize it references a deeper desire. I hunger both for the waiting time and for the result. I am drawn to God’s impending revelation of love into the world, but also to the expectancy itself. I yearn for the in-between, because I have found it a place of trial and testing and hope and faithfulness and trepidation and joy, and I know that the new life that comes next will be strong and sure and surprising.

I stand quietly for another minute. Then, chocolate in hand, I go about my day.





Image Copyright: kalani / 123RF Stock Photo 
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Tuesday of the Second Week of Advent

How priceless is your love, O God!
   your people take refuge under the shadow of your wings.  Psalm 36:7

I cannot erase the chill from the back of my neck; rather, despite my wool sweater it creeps further down between my shoulder blades. As my second cup of tea steeps, I stand in front of the kitchen heating vent, greedy for its warmth. The warm spot, my daughters used to call it when they were little.

They would sit on the floor in front of this vent on a cold winter morning and I would serve them breakfast and hot cocoa with a footstool as their table. A place of comfort and refuge from the draftiness of our old house.  That battered stool is in front of me now, and I can’t imagine their bodies ever being small enough to sit beneath it. But they were.

And now I stand here, wishing I were small enough to huddle in front of the vent and let its heat waft over and around me. But another warmth envelops me as I call to mind the wings of love that protect me from the drafts of doubt and discontent. The wings of God that can enfold me even as I stand tall and move into my day. How priceless this refuge that travels with me.

I finish my second cup of tea, and the chill is gone.




Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Monday of the Second Week of Advent

Show me your ways, O Lord,
   and teach me your paths.  Psalm 25:3

As we leave the movie theatre in the cold rain, I try to think of the best route home. We need to pick up our daughter from her friend’s house along the way, and I try to picture the triangle in my head: theater to friend’s to home. But I can’t quite visualize the way, so I reach for my phone, not to call for directions, but to use the map.

How did we come to this, I think, as I contemplate the technology in my hand? When I was my daughter’s age, finding the way would have been such a different story. And when my mother was a girl?

The app on my phone lights up with three possible routes. Of course, why didn’t I think of going that way? It makes so much sense.

And as I drive, it occurs to me that like the highlighted possibilities on my phone, the ways of God are many. There is not one right path to discover and then choose. And in this time and place, finding the way is a different story. But nevertheless, it is a story and a path that traces it’s way from my mother to me and to my daughter. And even farther back, and even farther forward. I travel a way that is ancient and new. 

I drive on into the night and the rain and the endless possibilities of the loving ways of God.



Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Saturday of the First Week of Advent: The Feast of St. Nicholas

Praise the Lord, all you nations;
   laud him, all you peoples.

For his loving-kindness toward us is great,
   and the faithfulness of the Lord endures for ever. Hallelujah!   Psalm 117

I dig out the shoes from underneath the coat rack and place them by the front door. A pair of combat boots and a pair of canvas sneakers. Into each go a handful of gold-foiled chocolate coins. It is the feast of St. Nicholas.

I had to run out to the store last night to buy the coins because I had forgotten to run the errand earlier. I debated for a moment. Did I want to get up from the warmth of our dinner table and go out into the cold rainy night? My girls are in high school, so perhaps this tradition is no longer necessary. 

When we started this tradition so many years ago, it was a celebration and a teaching. We wanted to give St. Nicholas his own space on his feast day, and so to teach our children about a real person, the Bishop of Myra, who became known across the centuries because he did care for children, and the poor, and he gave out of his bounty and his deep love for Christ. 

And now, as I wait for my teenagers to rise late on a Saturday morning and discover the chocolate treasure, I realize the simple joy this custom brings into our house carries real power. In this culture that celebrates the season with the garish and the sentimental, how significant it is to eke out sacred space. For my girls to receive, but also for me to give. Marking it. Setting it aside. A signpost on the Advent journey pointing to the love of Christ and the enduring faithfulness of God.


Read more about St. Nicholas here.
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Friday of the First Week of Advent

I give no offense with my mouth as others do;
   I have heeded the words of your lips.   Psalm 17:4

A fine sheen of mist gilds the full moon and gentles the early winter night. It gets dark so early this time of year, I think, as I walk across the parking lot on my way home from work. I pass the men gathered by the church door, waiting for a meal and a place to sleep on this cold night. I nod at them as I move on.

Earlier in the day, in the same parking lot, I had greeted a couple who were bringing in food to prepare for those men. They didn’t know how many guests to plan for. It’s only by word of mouth that the men in need know the church will welcome and shelter them this night. They cannot be reached by text messages or email blasts, nor send in a reservation.

By word of mouth. Isn’t that how any of us know of God’s goodness, of love, of compassion, of hope? And isn’t it also how any of us know of judgment, humiliation, condemnation?

How often do I give offense with my mouth, I think, as I get in my car and drive toward home. Even by not speaking. By not welcoming. By not offering a word of compassion or care.

By word of mouth. God’s hope entrusted to our lips.



Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Thursday of the First Week of Advent

I love you, O Lord my strength,

   O Lord my stronghold, my crag and my haven.

My God, my rock in whom I put my trust,

   my shield, the horn of my salvation, any my refuge;

   you are worthy of praise.   Psalm 18:1-2

My shoes are nowhere to be found. This throws off my tightly planned morning, as time to hunt down missing items was not on the agenda. Bedroom, bathroom, by my desk, in the front hallway, under the couch, the closet. Nothing. This is most exasperating because I am the queen of finding things in our house. I have been known locate my daughters’ or husband’s misplaced books, keys, or cell phones without leaving the comfort of my favorite chair. I make the rounds again, and one more time. It becomes a mantra: bedroom, bathroom, desk, hallway, couch, closet. Nothing. 

I consciously clamp down my exasperation before it rises to fury. I make myself choose another pair of shoes. I move on. Missing shoes seems scant reason for upsetting my entire equilibrium, but I am forever tempted to see disaster where there is only disruption.

But today will not be one of those days. Because while I search, another mantra runs through my head: strength, stronghold, crag, haven, rock, shield, refuge. Words from my morning prayer. How can I not rejoice when God offers me so much?

Strength. Stronghold. Crag. Haven. Rock. Shield. Refuge. Love. I choose Strength. I choose Love. I choose God.

Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Wednesday of the First Week of Advent

Happy are those whose way is blameless

  who walk in the law of the Lord!  Psalm 119:1

Despite my resolution, I express my irritation at the driver in front of me who cannot seem to make up his mind. Is he stopping, turning, parking? “Turn signals are always welcome,” I say out loud although I am the only one in the car. And then I sigh at myself. I am always promising myself that I will resist ranting at other drivers. And I am always failing at this promise. And I know, all too well, that my outbursts do not result in better driving on the part of others, but rather increased exasperation for myself. Nor am I a faultless driver.

My way is hardly blameless. Ever. It would be nice. And I bet they are happy, those people who are virtuous and guiltless. But who are they? Who is it that can walk in the law of the Lord, perfectly, without straying off the path of righteousness?

And then I remember that the law of the Lord is love and faithfulness. It is not hardship. And I have experienced this love and care. I have run into it in all sorts of unexpected places. Including busy streets on a December afternoon.

The Advent invitation is clear: to step onto the path, to wend our way toward Bethlehem, to look for the highway in the wilderness that is straight and true and even. And to trust in the goodness of God, who prepares for us once and for all, and again and again, the gift of salvation.

Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014