It is the third Sunday in Advent, ushering in the theme of Joy.
Scheduling Hope
Hope is a condition of the heart in which we live with a sense of confident expectation and anticipation. Yet with all that is on most of our plates, it can be easy to lose touch with any air of expectancy, and live instead gasping for breath due to the pressure of all that is expected of us.
Queue the calendar.
When I am mindful to use it well, my calendar becomes an instrument of hope…
A monthly video call with two dear friends and colleagues, where together we’ve created a safe place in which to engage in courageous and vulnerable thinking.
Sessions with a trainer who is helping me move from rehab of an injury to the renewal of my strength and capacity to do the things that I love.
Coaching sessions with one of my clients who is decidedly all in on our work together, and shows up fully every time we meet.
Time set aside to help our daughter and her family get ready for their move to a new house, smack dab in the middle of the holidays.
FaceTime dates with those I love.
Family coming over the river and through the woods for Christmas.
A massage, a much needed haircut, and a pedicure.
Friends for dinner, and a New Year’s Eve party.
Seattle Seahawks games that could land us in the playoffs.
A candlelight service on Christmas Eve.
As Annie Dillard says, How we spend our days, is, of course, how we spend our lives. By making sure to include in my days that which makes me come alive, I am choosing to live in a state of hopeful anticipation.
A calendar as an instrument of hope?
Who knew?
Ho-Ho-Hoping
When I was growing up, getting into the Christmas spirit happened via family traditions, of which there were many. The Nativity Scene appeared on the marble-topped dresser, illuminated by two flickering votives in their red antique hobnail candle holders. My dad made his famous eggnog, I sat in the window seat beside the Christmas tree listening to A Christmas Carol on the record player, captivated by Basil Rathbone’s voice, and the stockings were hung by the chimney with care.
And then there was Santa Doll.
He was dressed in a worn red and white fleece onesie, had a kewpie doll baby face to which had been added white hair, handlebar mustache, and a full beard. He had a tiny music box inside that played Here Comes Santa Clause, and truth be told, he was a sad little rendition of old St. Nick. But it was his appearance every year that said in no uncertain terms, that Christmas was a comin’. It was never a question of if he would show up, but when.
Traditions inspire us to hope. They remind us that regardless of our circumstances, there is a thread we can count on to carry us through the good times and the bad. Traditions are a calm place in the midst of our storms, and a beacon of light when times are dark.
Santa Doll still appears every year, as he has for as long as I can remember. Come what may, this small, ragged doll continues to herald the coming of Christmas.
The Holy Ground of Hope
Sitting down to write about Hope, the Advent theme this week, I found myself wondering what hope feels like. Unexpectedly, a memory of a shared outdoor church service this past summer came to mind. Gathering with another church at a waterfront park, we were assembled under the blue sky ceiling of the sanctuary that is the Columbia River Gorge, a space as sacred as any church, mosque, or cathedral.
We came together to lift our voices, hearts, and minds in praise, thanksgiving, and reflection. At the beginning of the service, we were led in a time of honoring the history of this part of the world that we call home. Native peoples inhabited the Gorge long before white people came to dwell and dominate, and the pastor led us through a series of prayers of gratitude and thanksgiving for these people who came before us, their care of the land, and for the shared earth upon which we stand. With eyes closed, as her words poured over me, I had a sense unlike any before, of the ground actually holding me up. It was not my feet pressing down, but the earth rising up. There wasn’t anything required of me to engage this support except to recognize that it had always been there, was there in that moment, and would be there in the future.
That sense of the solid ground upon which to stand is the place from which we can dare to hope. And we can dare to hope because it isn’t our feet firmly planted that hold us up, but the holy ground upon when we stand.
Sometimes hope feels like the firm foundation found squarely beneath our feet.
Ushering In Hope
Advent begins today, and each Sunday ushers in a different theme. As it is an especially meaningful season in my spiritual tradition, I decided to write through each one over the course of the next four weeks.
Today ushers in the week of Hope.
Let’s start with the basics. What is hope?
The dictionary defines it as a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. We set our sights on an aspiration. We look to the fulfillment of a wish or desire. We focus on what we do want to happen, rather that what we don’t. We allow ourselves to take in the feeling of expectancy, stay close to it, and take steps to bring it into being.
Several months ago, Tom and I decided that it might be time to bring a dog into our home. Knowing that it is a big commitment, and a bit of a game-changer, we began to set our hopes on the right dog appearing at the right time.
Well, she did.
Meet Gracie.
A Season of Waiting
“No man reaches where the moon touches a woman.
Even the moon leaves her when she opens
Deeper into the ripple in her womb
That encircles dark, to become flesh and bone.
Someone is coming ashore inside her,
A face deciphers itself from water,
And she curves around the gathering wave,
Opening to offer the life it craves.
In a corner stall of pilgrim strangers,
She falls and heaves, holding a tide of tears.
A red wire of pain feeds through every vein,
Until night unweaves and the child reaches dawn.
Outside each other now, she sees him first,
Flesh of her flesh, her dreamt son safe on earth.”
The Nativity by John O’Donahue
Tomorrow is the first Sunday in Advent, a time which in my tradition is a season of waiting, expectancy, and anticipation. In our church, on each of the four Sundays leading up to Christmas, we will light a candle to symbolize one of the themes specific to Advent:
Hope.
Peace.
Joy.
Love.
Every year before the first Sunday in Advent a nativity display appears in front of the Glenwood General Store in our little rural town. This year, however, the display moved a few feet west of the store, landing the holy family in front of the Burger Shed. A gas station in days gone by, which one can imagine in ancient times might have been about the size of a small stable in which to take shelter. But not all the holy family is visible. The mother and father, on either side of a small empty manger, await the arrival of a new life on the way. These are their days of waiting, expectancy, and anticipation, as they are ours.
Come Christmas morning, anyone driving by the Burger Shed will find the babe in the manger, a symbol of hope, peace, joy, and love. No matter our beliefs, religious or not, each of those is a fundamental longing of the human heart, And as the days grow shorter, and the darkness arrives earlier, it seems a season primed for us to eagerly wait for hope, peace, joy, and love to rise up. But let’s not just to wait for them, let’s watch for them.
Let’s claim them wherever we find them.
Let’s proclaim them whenever we see them.
Let’s call them forth.
Let’s carry them forward.
Let’s offer them up.
Let’s embody them.
Let’s embrace them.
Let’s give birth to them.
