Daily Visitation

Saturday of the Third Week of Advent

Indeed, there is not a word on my lips,

but you, O God, know it altogether.

Psalm 138:3

At dinner, we decide to light the fourth advent candle on our wreath, even though we are two days early. When I was a child, we used to light the next candle at dinner on Saturday, anticipating the dawning of the new week to come. I’m not sure why. I do remember as the youngest child eagerly waiting for my turn to light the candles. This night, my spouse lights the candle as I say the prayer.

“Purify our conscience, Almighty God,” I pray.

“By you daily visitation,” he responds.

I need this prayer before my Advent journey collides into Christmas Eve. I do feel ready for the rapid succession of events about to unfold. And I also want to remember, and hold close, the daily visitation of the God who loves me. Who knows even the words on my lips before I speak.

God broke into the world as an infant long ago. God continues to break into weary hearts. And the Morning Star continues to rise and the darkness will not overcome it.

 

In the midst

Friday of the Third Week of Advent

Give me the joy of your saving help again

and sustain me with your bountiful Spirit.

Psalm 51:13

Raucous children filling the parish hall with laughter as we prepare to rehearse the pageant. Musicians practicing familiar carols both quiet and robust. Long-time friends chattering as they work contentedly bringing out all the ritual trappings of the season. The sounds of preparation surround me, pushing away noisy distractions, creating holy space in the midst.

In the midst of unready-ness. In the midst of shortcomings. In the midst of doubt. In the midst of hardheartedness. In the midst of sorrow. In the midst of expectation.

In the midst of a world both broken and full of loving-kindness a manger lies waiting to once again receive the gift of Love.

Not wanting

Thursday of the Third Week of Advent

Feast of St. Thomas the Apostle

The Lord is my shepherd;

I shall not be in want.

Psalm 23:1

I have to consciously breathe my way through the store, focusing on my list and not allowing my senses and my soul to be captured by all that is on offer. I can get so easily overwhelmed by commercial appeals, brightly colored items arrange attractively on shelves, and aisles that lead me to more stuff. I thought this was going to be a one stop trip. I am now at my fourth store.

The enemy is always close at hand at the holy times, a friend tells me. Well of course. What better way to disrupt the peace brought by the One who embodies healing and mercy than to lead me astray on my way to the manger with anxious thoughts that I need more in order to be OK.

I escape with my final purchase into what will be the longest night. At dinner, we light three candles on the Advent wreath, doing our part to usher brightness into the world. The ritual reminds me there is more illumination to come. I am not in want.

 

Crossing paths with majesty

Tuesday of the Third Week of Advent

We have waited in silence on your loving-kindness, O God,
in the midst of your temple.
Psalm 48:8

The narrow road winds through the trees, unlit except for the crescent moon that peeks between bare tree limbs. It is only 5:00pm, but it feels like the middle of the night as I travel this unfamiliar route to an unfamiliar destination. I drive with caution because of the unfamiliarity, the darkness, the rain, and the real possibility that a deer might jump into my path.

But it is not a deer. I see a car coming towards me slow to a stop, and I slow too as my headlights pick up shapes crossing the road. Not deer. Ruffed grouse.

I wait in silence and awe as three of these majestic birds cross the road, one fanning her tail feathers in a regal display that I can see in the cross beams of the car lights.

Here in the middle of the woods in darkness and rain and on an unfamiliar road, I am in God’s temple, watching as God puts on a grand display of love and life. In the dark and unfamiliar roads of Advent I also watch, waiting for the majesty of an infant to cross my path. 

image credit: Cornell Lab of Ornithology

 

creating/creativity/Creator

 Monday of the Third Week of Advent

If we have forgotten the Name of our God,

or stretched out our hands to some strange god,

Will not God find it out?

For God knows the secrets of the heart.

Psalm 44:20-21

I open the new pack of felt tip drawing pens with a sense of devotion. I had forgotten about them, only discovering them in a drawer when I was looking for something else. I don’t know when I bought them, but I am sure I did so as a treat to myself. I have another pack, well-used and missing at least one color, which I have had since high school when I won an art competition and used the gift card I received to purchase some high-quality art supplies.

Just taking in the newness and brightness of the pens brings me pleasure. And also a note of caution. I am a bit of a hoarder when it comes to art stuff. Several drawers of supplies for unfinished projects, a few craft kits unopened, boxes containing the ends of things (bits of fabric, used bottles of glitter glue, scraps of decorative paper) that might be useful someday.

I wonder. Does my grasping for and holding on to creative supplies actually clutter the creative process? When I surround myself with fine materials, do I make idols of the stuff, when what I need is just to immerse myself in the Creator?

Obstacles

 Saturday of the Second Week of Advent

Send out your light and your truth,

that they may lead me,

and bring me to your holy hill

and to your dwelling.

Psalm 43:3

The setting of the December sun quickens our steps as we want to complete our hike before the daylight gives out. And then. A large fallen trunk across the path impedes our progress. It is amazing to me that trees in the forest just fall over. Majestic towers giving themselves over as water and loosened soil deny their roots anything to grasp.

I know that this obstacle in our path is not intentional (although my spouse points out, rightly, that if this were a novel or a game we would now be in the midst of an ambush.)

The obstacles on my way to the manger are not put there by some divine presence to stall me. As if the birth of God into the world was in any way attuned to my daily meanderings. The assault of commercialism, the tasks to be accomplished, the fear of disappointing others. These are impediments to which I subject myself.

After a few moments of discerning the best way over the fallen trunk, we are on our way. Heading into the coming dusk. Heading home. Heading to the manger.

Sunlit

Friday of the Second Week of Advent

Into your hands I commend my spirit,

for you have redeemed me, O God of truth.

Psalm 31:5

The winter sunlight not only send swaths of brightness across the room, but warmth as well. I pause in my tasks to soak up the light and along with its energy. I could curl up like a cat in one of the sunny pools. Or let the brilliance spur me to creative activity. Either choice leads me close to the manger.

And this is the promise of Advent. The Savior comes. Always. And in all ways. There is no choice I can make, or path I can travel, where Christ is not reaching out to me offering redemption. The ultimate choice of faith, is to place myself, my life, my spirit into the hands of love. 

Unfurling

Thursday of the Second Week of Advent

Commit your way to the Lord and put your trust in God,

and God will bring it to pass. 

Psalm 37:5

The bloom on my houseplant is unexpected. I don’t even know what the plant is; it came to me as part of a basket of blooming bulbs last Easter. The other flowers faded away, but this one bloomed long into the summer, and as its leaves stayed green, I kept it in the front window and tended to it.

And now its tender pink flowers have begun to unfurl in the morning sun. As if getting ready. As if lifting their heads with expectation. As if learning toward a welcome arrival.

This Advent has unfurled rapidly. Can it really be time to lift my head from the tasks in front of me? Should I already be at the door, ready to fling it wide open to welcome the holy guest? Whatever else, it is time to trust in the coming.

 

Arriving

Wednesday of the Second Week of Advent

 

For in you, O Lord, have I fixed my hope;

you will answer me, O Lord my God.

Psalm 38:15

 

As I watch, one electric candle in the window switches off, its internal light sensor marking the arrival of the morning light, while the second candle stay alight. Sunlight does not suddenly appear everywhere all at once. Dawning. Waning. Words to describe light as movement, procession.

 

God’s glory and presence are likewise always in motion. Which means I fix my hope on the ethereal yet completely steadfast. The coming of Christ is both a dawning and a breaking in. It is continual. An arrival. Onset. Coming. Appearance. Advent. 

Sighting

Monday of the Second Week of Advent

Show me your ways, O Lord,

and teach me your paths.

Psalm 25:3

The late afternoon feels like early evening as the days continue to shorten. I stand at my kitchen sink, ready to deal with the accumulated dishes waiting to be washed when I notice that the liquid dish soap has spilled onto the countertop. Then I look again. The spilled liquid forms the shape of a heart.

I have a friend who is a runner and often notices heart-shaped rocks along her way. She will stop and take a picture, and then post some lovely thought inspired by her sighting.

Whether it is a stone or a splatter, paying attention makes the difference. Transforming obstacles and messes and unremarkable encounters into signs of love.

Pay attention is the Advent refrain. Pay attention to signs of love, lighting the way through the darkening time to the greatest illumination of all. 

Sustained

Saturday of the First Week of Advent 

I believed, even when I said, “I have been brought very low.”

Psalm 116:9

I wake in the middle of the night, realize I am safe in bed, and go back to sleep. In the morning when I wake again with a sense of well-being, I give thanks to God. Because during the time of pandemic, I woke to anxiety. Each morning I would open my eyes and for the tiniest of breaths all would be well. And then I would remember.

I thought that time would never pass. I cried out to God in my distress. And then leaned into the strength of the Holy One, depended on the prayers of others, discovered the sacrament of community.

And now in ancient rhythms and new patterns I trace the love that sustained me and upholds me still. Love waiting to be discovered and visited in the simplicity and lowliness of the manger.

Ritual

Friday of the First Week of Advent

My boundaries enclose a pleasant land;

indeed, I have a goodly heritage.

Psalm 16:6

I wake to the sounds of the house. The hums and clicks as the heat pushes back the morning chill. The creak of floorboards. The sigh of a humidifier. All familiar. I know where I am.

I wake also to a prayer of gratitude. After several flustered days, I now feel firmly ensconced in this season I love. The Advent wreath on the table, one candle already slightly burned down. The lights in the windows. The crèche ready to be assembled, bit by bit. All familiar. I know where I am.

The rituals which enclose me bring more than comfort. They feed me, clothe me, give me a place to inhabit, and urge me on. Toward a cradle and a holy night. Toward a second coming and a renewed creation.

Strength in hesitancy

Thursday of the First Week of Advent

I love you, O Lord my strength,

O Lord my stronghold, my crag, and my haven.

Psalm 18:1

For some reason, post office errands flummox me, even though I can walk to my local branch and the workers there are friendly. And the building is magnificent: ornate light fixtures, carved details, high arched windows and entryways. The architecture is meant to inspire, evoking strength, stronghold, haven.

The magnificence captivates me as I ponder how a mundane task is awarded such opulence. Yet it is not in the magnificence, but in the space of my reluctance for the task that I look for the holy this day. What is God calling me to examine within myself?

The illumination of Advent can be found in the shadow places. God’s strength present even in hesitancy and discomfort. 

Obstacles

Wednesday of the First Week of Advent

Happy are they whose way is blameless,
who walk in the law of the Lord!
Psalm 119:1

The automatic “Thank you Jesus” as I discover chocolate in my desk drawer is probably not the best use of that prayer. Nevertheless, the nonpareils seem to be what I need to jumpstart my sluggish self. Even as I indulge, I know better. Experience has taught me that this shortcut will not address my soul fatigue.

In this and larger life issues my way is not blameless. How could it be? And yet, I will continue to place my trust in the wideness of God’s mercy.

With intention, I wend my way through the obstacles that fluster me and settle myself into the contemplative space. I breathe deeply and pray again, “Thank you Jesus,” this time in greeting. 

Walking in mercy

Tuesday of the First Week of Advent

As for me, through the greatness of your mercy

I will go into your house;

I will bow down toward your holy temple in awe of you.

Psalm 5:7

Yesterday, in the late afternoon, I walked. It was a relief to be out moving along the damp, leaf-strewn road. A godsend to fully move my body, incorporate my breath, my arms, legs, and feet as well as the low burn of tendonitis, the slight arthritic ache, the joints that remind me of my age.

After a morning of technical challenges and fixes, trouble-shooting the online world, I found restoration in my physical connection with the outdoors--God’s holy temple. All of myself including my limitations, welcomed by God’s mercy.

Today I begin again. My limitations, my aging, my hesitations intertwined into who I am as I approach Bethlehem this time around. Still counting on God’s mercy.

 

As if

Monday of the First Week of Advent

You, O Lord, are a shield about me;

you are my glory, the one who lifts up my head.

Psalm 3:3

The cold rain. The email scam. The clutter of essential and insignificant papers completely obscuring the hall table. The presumed affronts. All that batters my weary soul. And then. The Advent call to stay awake, be alert, be ready. Impossible.

Surely God cannot be calling me to sleepless nights and anxious days.

And there I go. Barely one step into Advent and already I think I am on my own. As if.

God shields me. My gentle Savior cradles my head. My community reminds me we are in this together, equipped with all the necessary spiritual gifts for collective alertness as we wait for the revealing of Christ. And always, the prayers of many escort me all along the way.