Monday of the Second Week of Advent
All the paths of the Lord are love and faithfulness
to those who keep his covenant and his testimonies. Psalm 25:9
The glow of the streetlight illumines the snow-crusted branches highlighting the intricate lines and curves of the leafless tree outside my window.
The snow came faster and sooner and more abundantly than expected, and I know the beauty I contemplate is seasoned with delight and disappointment and danger. Nevertheless, I am captivated by this single tree.
I am drawn in by the patterns among, between and amidst the braches, negative space now come to the fore. With my eyes I try to follow one path, tracing a twisting way as branch forks into smaller branch dividing again and again into final twig. The ways diverge with delightful intricacy, one starting point resulting in more combinations than I care to follow. All the paths are new to me. All belong to one tree. All their possibilities have been there all along, simply hidden by the foliage of another season.
And in the dance of the bare branches I see the way of God as well. The paths of the Lord diverge into more possibility than we can imagine. The paths of the Lord reach out in hope in any season. The paths of the Lord may lie hidden beyond our notice, but they are paths nonetheless. The paths of the Lord are many, and all are love and faithfulness.
God has invited me into this contemplation; I can’t wait to see where the next step will lead me.
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2013
Monday, December 9, 2013
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Advent Cartwheels
Saturday of the First Week of Advent
For you will give him everlasting felicity
and will make him glad with the joy of your presence. Psalm 21:6
The moment I see the school bus ahead of me, I know I have made a grave miscalculation. School has just dismissed; I should have chosen a different route at this time of day.
I brake as the lights of the bus flash signaling that it is about to make a stop to let off passengers. I wonder how many stops it will make before I am able to turn onto another street. But thankfully, I am able to turn at the next block--only I had forgotten that this is the very street of the middle school itself. Now I am stuck. The light is green but traffic is at a standstill as young teens pour from the school and swarm across the streets ushered by crossing guards in bright green vests.
There is nothing for it. For a moment I contemplate making some kind of drastic U-turn to get out of the mess, but then I resign myself to patience. And just as I approach the intersection, I see him--the boy steps into the crosswalk and executes an outrageous cartwheel, backpack and all.
What a gift. What would possess a middle-school boy to demonstrate such abandon, such non-conformity, such bliss? Having completed his gymnastic move, he continues nonchalantly on his way. No crowd around him, no fans egging him on, simply a boy enjoying himself.
He unknowingly brightens my heart. Christ as a twelve-year-old, doing cartwheels in the temple and astonishing the adults.
The traffic eases and I continue on my way, giving thanks for obstacles that slow me down and remind me to notice joy.
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2013
For you will give him everlasting felicity
and will make him glad with the joy of your presence. Psalm 21:6
The moment I see the school bus ahead of me, I know I have made a grave miscalculation. School has just dismissed; I should have chosen a different route at this time of day.
I brake as the lights of the bus flash signaling that it is about to make a stop to let off passengers. I wonder how many stops it will make before I am able to turn onto another street. But thankfully, I am able to turn at the next block--only I had forgotten that this is the very street of the middle school itself. Now I am stuck. The light is green but traffic is at a standstill as young teens pour from the school and swarm across the streets ushered by crossing guards in bright green vests.
There is nothing for it. For a moment I contemplate making some kind of drastic U-turn to get out of the mess, but then I resign myself to patience. And just as I approach the intersection, I see him--the boy steps into the crosswalk and executes an outrageous cartwheel, backpack and all.
What a gift. What would possess a middle-school boy to demonstrate such abandon, such non-conformity, such bliss? Having completed his gymnastic move, he continues nonchalantly on his way. No crowd around him, no fans egging him on, simply a boy enjoying himself.
He unknowingly brightens my heart. Christ as a twelve-year-old, doing cartwheels in the temple and astonishing the adults.
The traffic eases and I continue on my way, giving thanks for obstacles that slow me down and remind me to notice joy.
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2013
Friday, December 6, 2013
A Visit from Saint Nicholas
Friday of the First Week of Advent
You will show me the path of life
in your presence there is fullness of joy,
and in your right hand are pleasures for evermore. Psalm 16:11
“So, St. Nicholas made a visit,” announces my daughter with just a hint of irony.
“Really.”
“He left chocolate and everything.”
“Wow. How about that?”
My daughter and I are playacting. She knows I am the one who put the chocolate coins in her shoes for her to discover this morning. I know she knows, and she knows that I know she knows. But it is tradition. In our house, St. Nicholas always leaves chocolate coins in the shoes on his feast day.
When my daughters were very young, I wanted them to know St. Nicholas, the Bishop of Myra, and the precursor to Santa Claus. I wanted them to know of his love for children and the poor, how he devoted himself to Christ by choosing to care for those who were sick and suffering, how he lived his life by loving others with courage and grace.
I wanted to introduce them to many saints, whose lives inspire us. Not because the saints were perfect; but because they were men and women, boys and girls who loved God and through that love were able to touch the lives of those around them in extraordinary ways.
Having giving St. Nicholas his due, my daughter gives me a hug, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I respond, grateful beyond words that my teenager offers me this gift of herself and knowing that St. Nicholas has truly visited us this morning.
Read more about St. Nicholas
Image credit: Baloncici / 123RF Stock Photo
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2013
Thursday, December 5, 2013
All Times and Places
Thursday of the First Week of Advent
You, O Lord, are my lamp;
my God, you make my darkness bright. Psalm 18:29
It is full night outside as I being to wash the dinner dishes. I pour a small amount of dish soap into the pan and then place it under the hot water faucet to fill. As I dip the sponge into the soap bubbles and begin to scrub, the pleasant lemony smell tickles my nostrils, and I am suddenly transported to a childhood visit to my grandmother’s house. I must have been ten or eleven. It was Christmas, and as a gift I had received a fancy glass bottle of bath oil.
As I stand at my kitchen sink looking out into the darkness, I smell again that lemony bath oil and see instead my grandmother’s handsomely appointed bathroom with the tub filling. I experience the anticipation of one about to embark on a sophisticated venture. For a fleeting moment, I recapture the sensation of being a young girl on the verge of adolescence and am conscious of pride and reverence at having received an elegant gift.
One whiff of lemon evokes all this. I am humbled by the strength of memory that connects the haven of my kitchen with the sanctuary of my grandmother’s house and the gift of God that makes both moments accessible simultaneously.
The darkness of the evening is dispelled by reminiscence and something more; the strength of God who makes all times and places one. The light shines on a young girl who smiles at her middle-aged self. And the stars in the crown of the King of kings light the way to a babe about to be born.
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2013
You, O Lord, are my lamp;
my God, you make my darkness bright. Psalm 18:29
It is full night outside as I being to wash the dinner dishes. I pour a small amount of dish soap into the pan and then place it under the hot water faucet to fill. As I dip the sponge into the soap bubbles and begin to scrub, the pleasant lemony smell tickles my nostrils, and I am suddenly transported to a childhood visit to my grandmother’s house. I must have been ten or eleven. It was Christmas, and as a gift I had received a fancy glass bottle of bath oil.
As I stand at my kitchen sink looking out into the darkness, I smell again that lemony bath oil and see instead my grandmother’s handsomely appointed bathroom with the tub filling. I experience the anticipation of one about to embark on a sophisticated venture. For a fleeting moment, I recapture the sensation of being a young girl on the verge of adolescence and am conscious of pride and reverence at having received an elegant gift.
One whiff of lemon evokes all this. I am humbled by the strength of memory that connects the haven of my kitchen with the sanctuary of my grandmother’s house and the gift of God that makes both moments accessible simultaneously.
The darkness of the evening is dispelled by reminiscence and something more; the strength of God who makes all times and places one. The light shines on a young girl who smiles at her middle-aged self. And the stars in the crown of the King of kings light the way to a babe about to be born.
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2013
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Under Construction
Wednesday in the First Week of Advent
Oh, that my ways were made so direct
that I might keep your statutes! Psalm 119:5
I merge into the heavy traffic on the interstate and am pleased that it is moving at a good pace. However, the car in front of me slows, almost imperceptibly at first, but then significantly as we drop well below the speed limit. I am flummoxed. I don’t have time for this. There are groceries to buy, kids to pick up at two different locations, an errand to run. I have it all mapped out efficiently. I can get it all done. If only the traffic will pick up.
The car in front of me adroitly maneuvers into the passing lane revealing the obstacle to my speedy progress. A construction vehicle. Moving very slowly. I pull up close behind it and then realize this is not wise; I should probably give it more space. That’s when I notice the caution sign plastered in large bold letters across the back of the truck, “Construction Vehicle: Keep Alert for Sudden Stops and Turns.”
Keep alert. Of course, that is the Advent decree. And there are sudden stops and turns as we navigate our way simultaneously to the crèche and the second coming. Prophecies that draw us up short followed by words of comfort. Frantic preparations interrupted by moments of bliss and beauty. At times I think it would be lovely if someone would take over, direct my ways, so that I might follow Christ unswervingly. But I am a work in progress; my spiritual life is forever under construction.
Perhaps we are our own construction vehicles, always on our way to make repairs and improvements in our lives as we wend our way toward Christ. It would behoove us to be mindful of each other, to treat one another – and ourselves - gently, because on this Advent journey anyone of us may need to stop, readjust, look again for the star of Bethlehem, the light with which God beckons us to love.
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2013
Oh, that my ways were made so direct
that I might keep your statutes! Psalm 119:5
I merge into the heavy traffic on the interstate and am pleased that it is moving at a good pace. However, the car in front of me slows, almost imperceptibly at first, but then significantly as we drop well below the speed limit. I am flummoxed. I don’t have time for this. There are groceries to buy, kids to pick up at two different locations, an errand to run. I have it all mapped out efficiently. I can get it all done. If only the traffic will pick up.
The car in front of me adroitly maneuvers into the passing lane revealing the obstacle to my speedy progress. A construction vehicle. Moving very slowly. I pull up close behind it and then realize this is not wise; I should probably give it more space. That’s when I notice the caution sign plastered in large bold letters across the back of the truck, “Construction Vehicle: Keep Alert for Sudden Stops and Turns.”
Keep alert. Of course, that is the Advent decree. And there are sudden stops and turns as we navigate our way simultaneously to the crèche and the second coming. Prophecies that draw us up short followed by words of comfort. Frantic preparations interrupted by moments of bliss and beauty. At times I think it would be lovely if someone would take over, direct my ways, so that I might follow Christ unswervingly. But I am a work in progress; my spiritual life is forever under construction.
Perhaps we are our own construction vehicles, always on our way to make repairs and improvements in our lives as we wend our way toward Christ. It would behoove us to be mindful of each other, to treat one another – and ourselves - gently, because on this Advent journey anyone of us may need to stop, readjust, look again for the star of Bethlehem, the light with which God beckons us to love.
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Joyful Expectancy
Tuesday of the First Week of Advent
In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice;
early in the morning I make my appeal and watch for you. Psalm 5:3
It is dark when I awake, but not as cold as it has been. I find it easier to arise, knowing that I won’t be chilled to the very bone before I make it to the bathroom. Even so, it is the morning discipline of prayer tugging at me that compels me to place my feet on the floor.
I am really not a morning person. But in a home shared with spouse and daughters, I find my solitude by being the first one up. When my daughters were young, I needed the quiet time to bolster myself for the onslaught of diapers and dressing and the gathering whirlwind that would inevitably push us all out the door into our day ahead, ready or not. Now, as the members of our household fend for themselves, I discover that Morning Prayer is not a survival tool, but something richer. Grounding in the daily course of scripture, prayer, and stillness before God prepares me to be watchful.
The watchfulness of Advent is a practice. It is not about exhaustive wakefulness or restless anxiety, but rather the exercise of joyful expectancy. And as I head into my day, the joy begins to unfold: an early morning email of encouragement from a far away friend, a hug and an “I love you” from my teenage daughter, a gorgeous fall leaf pressed into a letter.
God is with us. God does accompany me on my day. Or rather I accompany God. Or it’s both and. The more I practice watchfulness, the more I see God in the daily.
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2013
In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice;
early in the morning I make my appeal and watch for you. Psalm 5:3
It is dark when I awake, but not as cold as it has been. I find it easier to arise, knowing that I won’t be chilled to the very bone before I make it to the bathroom. Even so, it is the morning discipline of prayer tugging at me that compels me to place my feet on the floor.
I am really not a morning person. But in a home shared with spouse and daughters, I find my solitude by being the first one up. When my daughters were young, I needed the quiet time to bolster myself for the onslaught of diapers and dressing and the gathering whirlwind that would inevitably push us all out the door into our day ahead, ready or not. Now, as the members of our household fend for themselves, I discover that Morning Prayer is not a survival tool, but something richer. Grounding in the daily course of scripture, prayer, and stillness before God prepares me to be watchful.
The watchfulness of Advent is a practice. It is not about exhaustive wakefulness or restless anxiety, but rather the exercise of joyful expectancy. And as I head into my day, the joy begins to unfold: an early morning email of encouragement from a far away friend, a hug and an “I love you” from my teenage daughter, a gorgeous fall leaf pressed into a letter.
God is with us. God does accompany me on my day. Or rather I accompany God. Or it’s both and. The more I practice watchfulness, the more I see God in the daily.
Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2013
Monday, December 2, 2013
An Extraordinary Sign
Monday of the First Week of Advent
But you, O Lord, are a shield about me;
you are my glory, the one who lifts up my head. Psalm 3:3
“Mom, did you see that sign?” my daughter pipes up as we are several hours into a long drive home after spending Thanksgiving with my parents. “No, I missed it,” I reply, curious as to what caught her attention.
“It said, ‘God is not boring!’ ”
“Well, you certainly can’t argue with that.”
For the past couple of days, I have been awakened by a sense of urgency. Advent is upon us and I don’t feel ready. I have braced myself, anticipating being slammed into the season unprepared.
In many ways, I am prepared. The Advent wreath at home is ready, waiting to be lit. Advent calendars have been purchased and sent to our Godchildren. I have a plan to place the candles in our windows that we light during this season. But it is the hopefulness for which I feel ill-equipped. Hope seems to elude me in the early morning hours, how can I enter this season of expectation?
Hey Mom, did you see the sign?
I wish for more signs. I wish for signs of joy for those suffering loss. I wish for signs of rest for the beleaguered, of abundance for the careworn, of kindness for the brokenhearted. I wish for signs of hope.
But the sign is there. God is certainly not boring. God is outrageous. God is inexhaustible. God not only shields me, but lifts up my head when I am unable to muster the energy or will or strength. How extraordinary.
Perhaps it is as simple as that. Perhaps it is as profound as that. It is Advent. A time of waiting for the coming. And Christ is coming. Again. And there is good news to share. Again.
And I choose hope. Again.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2013
But you, O Lord, are a shield about me;
you are my glory, the one who lifts up my head. Psalm 3:3
“Mom, did you see that sign?” my daughter pipes up as we are several hours into a long drive home after spending Thanksgiving with my parents. “No, I missed it,” I reply, curious as to what caught her attention.
“It said, ‘God is not boring!’ ”
“Well, you certainly can’t argue with that.”
For the past couple of days, I have been awakened by a sense of urgency. Advent is upon us and I don’t feel ready. I have braced myself, anticipating being slammed into the season unprepared.
In many ways, I am prepared. The Advent wreath at home is ready, waiting to be lit. Advent calendars have been purchased and sent to our Godchildren. I have a plan to place the candles in our windows that we light during this season. But it is the hopefulness for which I feel ill-equipped. Hope seems to elude me in the early morning hours, how can I enter this season of expectation?
Hey Mom, did you see the sign?
I wish for more signs. I wish for signs of joy for those suffering loss. I wish for signs of rest for the beleaguered, of abundance for the careworn, of kindness for the brokenhearted. I wish for signs of hope.
But the sign is there. God is certainly not boring. God is outrageous. God is inexhaustible. God not only shields me, but lifts up my head when I am unable to muster the energy or will or strength. How extraordinary.
Perhaps it is as simple as that. Perhaps it is as profound as that. It is Advent. A time of waiting for the coming. And Christ is coming. Again. And there is good news to share. Again.
And I choose hope. Again.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2013
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