Advent Greetings to you!

This is far and away my favorite season for its metaphors of darkness and light, Love Incarnate, and illustrations of God-with-us. I’m snatching this unexpected window for writing, as the baby finally fell asleep as it was time to leave for Mass, second-hand tea bag steeping in the stolen quiet while the rest of the gang drove off in the frosted car.

I laughed out loud as I read today’s reflection about listening and staying awake: ‘The holy thief breaks into our lives quietly, the barely audible click of a door, the softest padding of feet.’ I have found myself waking from Nutcracker-like dreams, laying in bed listening for the snap of mouse traps as our unfinished construction project looms on, beckoning more than one weary seeker to find shelter in our home. Hardly the holiday-ready home pictured in any ad splashed before our eyes this month.

There is no shortage of shiny resources to aid us in providing a new lens through which to receive this Advent–hoping it will be the most enriching and spiritually-nourishing yet. This fresh start feels plausible because we have been changed over the past year and understand the Nativity story through a newly-lived experience. I don’t know about you, but I am certainly a different person than the one preparing to welcome the Christ child last year this time; I have been stretched in every sense of the word. Perhaps that resonates with you, too.

And it is good to be reminded that the One we are preparing for was born into a poor family, amidst livestock. Word made flesh, straight into the feed trough. Bread of Life from the very beginning. High hopes, alongside very domesticated ones.

For all the good intentions and high hopes for the peace-filled and spiritually renewing season, it is the nitty-gritty of our every day that the Lord is waiting to enter into. At the risk of domesticating Emmanuel, I invite us to carve our space for that, too. 

Japanese Kintsugi (golden repair) and Navajo weavers who leave intentional flaws in their design, offer tangible reminders of the ways our best efforts, though good and beautiful, necessarily fall short of the perfection we seek. This does not diminish their goodness but accentuates our radical dependence on God. Offered willingly to the One who is perfection, our efforts (and ourselves) will in turn be created anew.

So with confidence we bring our lackluster prayer lives, our uninspiring decor, our fraying favorite sweater, even our sharp edges that bump up against others in the frenzy of holiday preparation, and lay them in the dust of the Creche, asking that this year we might glimpse the startling goodness of our humble offerings. 

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“Hope is one of my favorite emotions because of its humility. It’s not like gladness or joy which stick around just for the good stuff. Hope is my heart’s missionary– it humbly seeks fear and shame and befriends them. Hope enters the very dusty portals or my heart and clears out the cobwebs, and whispers the promise of perfection.”

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In other news…

I am thrilled to tell you that I am sharing in collaboration with Mothering Spirit some tender thoughts on Complicated Joy and the way the Lord has been speaking to my heart over the past year.

In case you missed it over at Blessed Is She, I got to share on the Synod and the Paradox of Martin the Merciful. Be on the lookout for a Christmas meditation inspired by one of my favorite artists in December!

Related reflections

A Tale of Two Advents    Light in the Darkness     Thresholds     Playing the Waiting Game

Around the Web

Advent with Oscar Romero, a free resource for Advent Reflections by Cameron Bellm

Mystery Deeper Than Memory, Sacred Remnant

Opportunity to give

I’ve shared my support for Heifer International. If you are inclined, their holiday drive is being TRIPLED this cyber Monday, extended through Tuesday.

Treat Yourself to a movie–

12/10 recommend seeing the first episodes of the Chosen Season 3 in Theaters. Coming in at #3 Thanksgiving weekend. I’d be sad to see you go. But if you want to, you can unsubscribe from here

The post Humble offerings appeared first on Unexpected Honey.

Because I was expecting last year, one of the best gifts I gave myself was a peaceful Advent. I’ve mentioned before that I attempt to prepare as though Christmas were on November 25 so I am not making myself crazy at my favorite time of year, to lean in and slow down. Everybody has their own system and this may not work for you, but if it sounds appealing, here is a list of some ideas worth preparing for and keeping it simple while having a ripple effect on the wider community.

I don’t usually do much regarding shopping ideas because there are a million holiday gift guides (and I’m excited to encourage folks to not spend money), but if you do buy gifts, here are a handful of great organizations with creative missions and thoughtful products.

Something to wear

Empowered Goods— beautiful hand-made jewelry that gives women in Mexico a living wage.

Brick House in the City–Ethically made, Catholic tees for women/men/children. So thoughtful and well-designed! *Watch for Advent devotional here, too.

Bombas– Super comfy socks, and for every pair purchased, one is donated.

Something to Read

**I”ll admit that there is an inverse correlation between night time wakings and reading recommendations.

Give Us This Day— Reflections and daily readings for the Liturgical year; easy to subscribe on someone else’s behalf or provide for someone who is incarcerated.

Evangelization and Culture— beautiful journal put out by the Word on Fire Institute

Pray for Us & Saints Around the World The Saints Around the World book is a favorite at our house. Meg is a knowledgeable and gifted writer who is able to describe the real lives of saints in a way that is tangible.

Become a Patreon supporter for Mothering Spirit, and support the wider mission of ecumenical dialogue and prayerful reflections on parenting. **Reminder: Send yourself and/or a friend on virtual Parable: A Retreat on Change for Ordinary time (held over the lunch hour) October 26-28, Sing a New Song Birth Stories retreat with Mothering Spirit (November 4-6). Other dates yet to be announced.

Hallow-an app for those wanting a variety of prayer and relaxation resources.

Something you want

Blessed is She Advent devotional, 2023 Planner, candles, etc. (Affiliate)

Equal Exchange Coffee, Tea & Chocolate

Cards by Anne

Come Be Our Light matchsticks, perfect for Advent wreaths and small hands.

Advent wreath

10,000 Villages Fair Trade home goods

The Chosen series–I’m still 10/10 recommending this series and anxiously anticipating season 3! You can purchase DVDs for your own viewing or pay it forward for someone else.

Something you need (or something someone else needs)

*Clearly you are the best judge of what you need. But, if you need any help meeting the needs of others, here are some outstanding organizations leading the charge:

International Justice Mission– Working to end human trafficking (modern day slavery)

Catholic Relief Services– Provides humanitarian aid to people in need around the world

Heifer International– teaches farming and agriculture in communities to promote self-sufficiency, education and clean water

Homeboy Industries supports those getting out and staying out of gangs and prison.

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I’d love to learn about organizations that you support this time of year or any time!

The post Preparing to prepare appeared first on Unexpected Honey.

Snowy mornings make Advent tangible to me. When the stars align, it may lead to tiptoeing downstairs into the dark, still-cold morning quiet and lingering in prayer. The rarity of being the only one up, or the overcast morning shadows in a state with lots of sunshine, reminds my body that these are treasures and deserve savoring. For all their peace, they are often accompanied by early morning mitten-searches, but the arrival of snow is received joyfully on this end of winter.

Which is a place to begin when it comes to joyful anticipation

We know, of course, that this wording will inevitably be sprinkled into our Advent homilies: “wait in joyful hope,” we will hear. Outside we’ll nod at the familiar sentiment but perhaps chafe internally at the mixed messages—to be both waiting and joyful. Yes?
Over the years we have learned from seasoned Advent travelers that the journey is intended to be taken slowly, plodding through the season alongside the Holy Family. And yet, when we know the celebration coming over the horizon, it can be a real struggle to temper our instinct to skip ahead to the party—especially in a year like this one. After all, we do not have the legacy of the Israelites whose prayerful trust in God bore great fruit over the span of generation after generation.

To put it mildly, we are not a culture of patient people. We don’t raise them and we tend not to have time for those with time to spare. Laughably our legacy might be having the shortest attention spans on planet earth– patrons or patronesses of instant gratification–as we grow more and more accustomed to being entertained, fed, and connected virtually through devices.

So what does Advent mean to a people like us, in a time like this?

Queen Esther might remind us that we were born precisely for a time like this (Esther 4:14). She might add that even our small, faithful efforts to savor the in-between without rushing to the ‘finish line’ provided sustenance to us or those who observe our doing so. From a woman who was certainly a minority in her royal household, she likely knows a bit about going against the grain. She is the perfect example of small, faithful efforts providing sustenance to people beyond our own front door. In this way, Esther is my cheerleader and she can be yours, too!

Real world application

In our area school has been canceled for the duration of the year, and based on the latest local emergency homeless shelter update, caring for those without homes this year with our parish will be done at even greater distances. Instead of community meals eaten together, all pre-packaged meals will be dropped in hotel parking lots, where guests will be able to prepare single-serve meals alone in hotel kitchens. While this may be a welcome upgrade from sleeping on church basement floors, I can’t help but feel that something is being lost in caring for folks (and schooling kids) from a distance, despite its safety.

This year we are in an unpracticed place of gratitude, and not because the Giver of good gifts has ceased to be generous.
What that likely means is that the arrival of those gifts has taken on a new look and we’re feeling hard-pressed to name their goodness. Turkey and pie may grace our tables, online shopping can continue to meet our wants/needs, and there is an accompanying emptiness in our celebrations. In large part it feels as though this has come from this experiment of ‘distancing’ and we’re right to note the disparity.

Mother Teresa famously reminded us that “If we have not peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
I wonder if this uncomfortable experience of delayed or distanced celebrating is tinged with the truth of Mother Teresa’s hard-won wisdom. Perhaps it’s been the first time in a long while that we have had such a personal reminder of that important truth. The ramifications of this prophetic truth have a wide reach. If you need to be convinced, mentally track each person on your block and ask yourself if anyone has checked in on them recently. The isolating pinch is personal, its reach is wide.

The weary world

When my mind wanders to the dawning season of Christmas card updates for the year—I’ve wondered what pithy meaning I or anyone else is making of this debacle and how that is going to play out on gold foil cards. I expect lots of references to masks and toilet paper, perhaps top ten canceled events, but joking aside, what meaning is there to be made? How much am I willing to skip past, and what is there to be gleaned from sticking with it?
Despite our fondness for the season of Light in the darkness, the season of Advent is not for the faint of heart. It never has been. It has always provided more than enough reason for the skeptic in us all to doubt. In that way, this year is no different. We feel worn down and cynical of anything else—good or bad–that could possibly happen this year. And, regardless of our circumstances, Emmanuel (God with Us) is reason enough for this weary world’s rejoicing.

More than ever, we all need reminding that we know the end of the story, and it’s worth stretching the celebration out for as long as possible: The Light shines in the darkness & the darkness did not overcome it (John 1:5)

The weary world needs your light. Perhaps you were born for such a time as this.

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This post is part of a blog hop by Spoken Women, an online community of Catholic women nurturing their creative callings. Click here to view the next post in this series “Joyful Waiting”

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As the finality of 2020 begins to come into focus, I have been fixating on thresholds; the boundaries that help us to define one thing from another. On some level, I think we are all fixating on the need to step over this particular pandemic threshold and into whatever comes after it. As it happens when a mind begins to pay attention, I have been finding thresholds in all sorts of unexpected places. I learned this week that thresholds were originally affixed to doorways to keep thresh (hay) inside of homes which prevented folks from slipping on the cold, wet ground in their houses circa 1500. 

What began as a practical solution has become a part of our everyday vernacular in naming the beginning of one thing, distinguished from the phase that comes in front and behind it, before or after.

Consider the significance of these distinct thresholds, the physical and imaginary lines drawn between two experiences:

-The doorway that separates one’s home from the outside world. This threshold divides cold from warmth and anonymity from familiarity. The practice of carrying brides over the threshold of their homes has served as a marker signaling the change from single to married life. Many bless the lintels of their homes each Epiphany to offer blessings upon all who pass beneath. On my college campus, the doors were tremendously tall, conveying St. Benedict’s belief that every door we open marks an important decision.

-The threshold of seasons: The intensity of fall doing its best to usher in the cold and wind on the heels of summer, only to relent and give way to ice, snow, and shortened days.

-My daughters and I recently re-visited the movie Little Women and Jo March described “Stepping over the threshold of childhood into all that lied beyond” as she moved to New York City. 

-The transition of a laboring woman that signals the waves of physical and mental preparation are making a sharp turn toward the action of delivery.

In my former doula days, watching for a woman’s transition was an important shift to observe in her labor experience. It is the moment when a woman’s physical body moves from a place of preparation for delivery to the mission of delivering the child from within her. It is powerful both to watch and to experience. To bear witness to this process is to step onto holy ground and observe an intensely focused force, to step over the threshold of preparation boldly into active participation in bringing a child earth-side.

This year I found an artistic depiction of a laboring woman as a metaphor for Advent. Maybe you have seen it circulating, too? It is an image that I have not considered before, and yet it is completely appropriate. It has garnered a wildly enthusiastic response. Be on the lookout.

–Liturgical seasons too provide threshold that move us (in this case) from the high highs of the Feast of Christ the King, to the quiet preparations of the unexpected and humble work that happened as the infant Jesus grew in Mary’s womb. From here we step out of preparation and into the wild celebration of God made flesh.

In this way, the season of Advent is its own threshold: Invisibly marking distinct space and time between the ordinary and the feast of Christmas. A time set apart for joy and anticipation.

The stuckness of in-between

Over dinner this week my oldest proclaimed that she loves Advent… “except for the waiting part.” We laughed at the unintentional paradox that she so honestly named. All of this is fitting: The slight discomfort of being on the way, in the liminal space of journeying and becoming. In 2020, we need what Advent has to offer in new ways. We need its peace, and we sure could use its joy.

I suspect that this is exactly where our struggles to engage Advent this year are stemming from. In this year where everything blurs together: Home/work, work/school, weekdays/weekends, we are at a loss to identify landmarks in this in-between place. Never have we been more hard-pressed to define what we are or are not about at any given time because it feels simultaneously like everything and nothing and there is no clear end in sight. We may not enjoy the view from here, but I wonder if pandemic Advent isn’t an apt experience of the journey? Feeling the eagerness of hope while quieting the voice in the back of our minds that wonders if maybe we missed something significant?

The wise men must have recognized this experience of traversing on a hunch. The Apostles clinging to hope after the crucifixion must have known this uncomfortable place. Jonah, or any individual invited to announce Jesus with their lives, recognizes this experience of being led onward in unfamiliar territory, with hope and a trembling voice.

Crossing thresholds is prophetic and costs something

Aside from the threshold of our homes (and tempers?) which we criss-cross daily, thresholds of every other nature are stepped over only once. We do not go back to our childhood in the same way we once experienced it, just like the way we engage this particular Advent will be different than every other Advent we ever have or ever will experience. 

Of course, we can cross thresholds without paying attention: Fall to winter, preparation to transition; the ebb and flow of daily life will bring us across threshold whether or not we are attentive. This kind of mindful threshold crossing might feel as though it requires the same laser focus as being broken open in labor—which can feel daunting. And, it is the heart of the matter, isn’t it? Allowing ourselves to be softened enough to respond to the nudges and pangs of the Spirit is what prepares us for transformation to occur and for the Christ child to be born in our lives, too.

To threshold crossings, bringing to birth, and staying awake-

Happy Adventing.

The post Thresholds appeared first on Unexpected Honey.

We see a house on our drive to school each morning that has had the words “This too shall pass” chalked on their brick wall since March. And it’s true. But with its truth comes a doggedly tired, ragtag people, eagerly searching the horizon for signs of life.

I look to this wall every day because I am waiting for this to pass. Waiting has become the name of the game, lately. To say that waiting in the age of live coverage and ever-enticing clickbait, is a muscle we don’t flex often, is an understatement.

And, here we are.

Mixed with the waiting, this year has been an experience of collective grief, and I would add, a loss of naiveté. What was once safe, expected, unspoken, has been shaken up, sifted through, splashed across the news, and played for us in ways I do not even recognize and am learning to grapple with. I say this not to dwell in pessimism, but to remind myself and maybe you, that we are playing the long game. The unfortunate truth in these circumstances is that there is no quick fix.

We are always on the way.

This has been our story from the beginning: When our hopes are realized, often it is not before they are turned completely and utterly on their head. Prayers are answered in ways that, if asked, we would not have recommended and definitely wouldn’t have preferred:

Like the 40 years wandering in the desert or the three days in the tomb before the resurrection. The arrival of Emmanuel during an unstable political climate under Cesar Augustus, in circumstances that made travel complicated if not unsafe, loss of an innocence previously taken for granted in a variety of ways; all smack of the unlikely (and somewhat familiar) circumstances into which Jesus chose to enter humanity.

Good news—Advent is around the corner and God is is about to meet us in our humanity again!

Instead of the usual, go-to plans (parties and pageants that have already been canceled), we are heading into a wilderness of sorts, in which it feels like we are in search of the Light in a much more palpable way than ever before. This year we will not have the option to busy ourselves with the autopilot traditions and invitations that pop up that we have in years past. Rather, I suspect this season will necessarily shift much more to traditions that fuel us, internally, and it makes all the difference in the world. Arguably this is the way preparing for the Christ should hit us each year, but this whole 2020 experience has landed many of us in the same wayfaring boat.

It’s the difference between hopping in the car to get to an old, familiar haunt; and the excitement, wonder, bewilderment–even, of leaving home with a new destination in mind.

Both are good, and yet our expectations and experiences of the two are nothing alike. One voyage invites us to check out, while the other heightens all of our senses. Was that the turn? What is this item on the menu? Where can I find an umbrella? What river is this? How do I ask about where to find the bathroom?

Like any good wayfarer, we know we must travel light and pay close attention as we strike out on this journey to which we are called. I suspect, at least I hope, that this is the case this year as we begin keeping watch for the Christ child as we head into Advent at the end of this month.

“This too shall pass.”

God willing, this unusual opportunity to embrace the unfamiliar will likely not appear to us in the same way again in our lifetimes. I’ll speak for myself in saying that I will be ready to embrace business as usual whenever possible. Because honestly, had we been asked, no one would have opted for this particular experience of Adventing. And, here we find ourselves: Desperate for the Light.

In what unexpected way might God already be wayfaring with us as we attempt celebration without a familiar ritual?

For so long many of us have succumbed to the belief that when our house, or guestroom, our Christmas shopping is ‘just right’ we will be prepared to welcome Christ. But maybe it has less to do with things being ‘just right,’ and more to do with the timing being just right. If that is the case, this is our year.

Maranatha, come!

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For a collection of timely Advent resources I’ve compiled, click here.

Maybe, like me, you are approaching the Church’s new year with a voracious appetite to be fueled up. In many respects, I wonder if our experience of preparation and celebration might not take on a simpler appearance for the changes that have come about in the midst of the ongoing pandemic? And if we might not be richer for it?

In the spirit of waiting, I’m contributing to the BIS chats series today on Fertility/Infertility, today. Click here to read more on Seasons of Fertility.:

This highly-regarded and tightly-gripped plan always leads us to really important conversations. In light of which, and with a healthy dose of hindsight, I am beginning to understand that through the years my own understanding of the gift of fertility has been evolving…

The post Playing the Waiting Game appeared first on Unexpected Honey.

Funny story. 

My daughter’s teacher sent out a request for family members to come in and talk about their holiday traditions. I mentioned that I’d be interested in reading my favorite book, Pippin the Christmas Pig, and like any good teacher who knows the value of volunteers, she graciously encouraged me to come.

I did a test-run last night, mostly to make sure that the story held the same appeal for my kids that it does for me–and I choked. I mean, couldn’t speak-tears-in-my-eyes kind of attempt reading aloud the simple truth of the Incarnation in the book is so profoundly beautiful. So my task before next week is to be able to make it through the darn book with some level of composure. [This remains a life goal as I listen to Paul Harvey’s “The Man and the Birds,” Johnny Cash’s Christmas Guest,  Danielle Rose’s Let Me Be Your Bethlehem, The Gift by Aselin Debison…the list goes on.]

It won’t surprise you then, to know that I feel pretty passionately about the importance of hearing the name Emmanuel and calling God by the name Emmanuel, God With Us. As someone who has gone by a nickname for most of her life, it is the difference of being addressed in the casualness of a nickname, compared to the core feeling of being called by my given name that more deeply names who I am. I hear it and feel it differently. I hear and feel Emmanuel more intimately than I hear Jesus. 

I have not found a name that compares to the comfort Emmanuel brings my heart. So, obviously this season has my full attention as the time where we hear again, God’s desire to be near us…in flesh, even.

In a nutshell,  I’m delighting in this season.

Paradox

On this sunny December morning, I’m also sharing about the Advent practice of waiting in the darkness, a practice of anticipation that is slow in coming. What I envisioned in my mind’s eye was an overcast, wintry morning, with pink and purple sky to accompany these thoughts. I should have known. What’s the expression?…’We make plans. God laughs.’

But maybe there is some new shaft of illumination for you and I in this season that we can only see when looking with eyes that have adjusted to the dark; adjusted to the wait. What growth, what peace, what mystery might we encounter if we have the courage to wait it out in the dark—not out of allegiance to what was last year, or anticipation of what is coming soon? [Read more here.]

Missing the point.

I should know this by now, of course–not to be surprised, I mean, by the ways my own plans do not amount to what I expect they might. And this is the point! At least that’s what I read in the foreword of the Advent journal I’m using this year. Fr. John Parks compares the ways that people have historically wandered: through the wilderness, through the desert, away from God,even. Then, and now, like a GPS, God seemingly ‘recalculates’ a return route to himself–a million new ways the story could end.  

The same can be true of Advent. In our mind’s eye, don’t we see the candles, tree, cookies, calendar, gifts, and gatherings in their pristine, glistening goodness? When in fact, there’s a chance our tree has tipped at least once, most of the chocolates have been eaten from the calendars, and the gifts are somewhere in our carts and might as well just remain there if you’ve seen the line at the post office lately.

But Christ shows up here, too. 

Not because Christmas is coming, but because God is always with us;  pursuing us. He will continue to do it again and again, despite our laughable expectations and detours.

Christmas currency

Around here, I’m attempting to put a new approach to Advent into practice. It’s something that is working for me, not  anything I’d prescribe for anyone else. I took my friend Laura’s advice to pretend that Christmas is at the end of November, and decided to find as many gifts as possible second-hand. In doing these two things, I am not shopping in December, and I am not spending money like a zealot.  I can appreciate the smaller impact this has on the environment, and it has freed up time for me to serve others by stepping into roles I typically would avoid or not have time for– making stockings for the 2nd graders, driving to the nearest mountain ranger station to purchase tree-cutting permits, allowing my children to attend their friend’s birthdays which happen to fall in December. *In other words, time has become my Christmas currency, in this single income household.

I hesitate to pile on any other ideas or experiences of how-to anything because who has time or patience for that at this point? This is an unpracticed new tradition which has me in my neighborhood talking to my neighbors, in thrift stores learning about the ways they serve our community, and trying to keep the spirit of the season simple and joyful. Happily, I think it is working.

I’ll close with a note I  found that I had written myself and posted in my kitchen cabinet. I have no recollection of doing it and taping it up there–but it’s my handwriting and it’s a perfect inspiration for the season–my prayer is that it whispers the peace you might be searching for, today. Enjoy!

The Incarnation began with Jesus and it has never stopped…God takes on flesh so that every home becomes a church, every child becomes the Christ-child, and all food and drink become a sacrament. God’s many faces are now everywhere in flesh, tempered and turned down so that our human eyes can see him.

-Ronald Rolheiser, OMI

Abundant Advent blessings–whatever expectations you have, or detours you may find yourself on this season.

The post expectations and detours appeared first on Unexpected Honey.

Ever notice how October is a bit of a glory hound? It comes in with a blaze, still warm afternoons, pumpkin spiciness, grinning jack-o-lanterns, kids in costume, and we hungrily eat it up.

November feels a bit somber by comparison–especially if you’re Catholic. Bang! As soon as you turn the page on the calendar, we dedicate two marvelous days to honoring the dead: Saints to begin, and then our own litanies of loved ones who have passed. *I wrote on both of these days for Blessed Is She this month if you want to delve in. Then we turn the clocks back and all hell breaks loose in our internal rhythm–darkness moves in and ushers with it muted brown and gray leaves, if there are any left after the sleet and wind. Baking and comfort food are redeeming qualities, though, it can begin to feel like we’re  trudging our way to Thanksgiving and Advent.

Yes?

My husband recently shared a quote from Teddy Roosevelt that feels appropriate to add to the conversation, seasonal or not: ‘Comparison is the thief of joy.’ A pretty pithy little phrase.

I’ll be honest, this is a skill I’m honing. I still roll my eyes at my neighbors’ ever-present Halloween decor that hasn’t come down in the years we’ve lived on this block. It’s easier on my eyes and my conscience when the things before me do not remind me of insufficiency, need, or apathy. When I can tidy things up and make them appear to be less broken and more lovely. I recognize this is broken thinking, that it is actually our brokenness that makes room for beauty to spring forth, and yet…

Because the atmosphere this time of year lends itself to comparison, and the fact that I’m not particularly good at avoiding it, here’s a couple of folks who are worth paying attention to, and can speak eloquently on ways we can also choose to see beauty in the small, imperfect, goodness that surrounds us:

Shannan Martin–I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Shannan (The Ministry of Ordinary Places) is the queen of holding up the very good and usual, and proclaiming it, beautiful; lovable, even. Cook in a shelter by day, writer by night, married to a jail chaplain, she sees the world for what it is, and adores it. In many ways, she could be the patron saint of November’s ordinariness. And when she points it out, I see it too.

I try to channel Shannan when I need to re-frame the ordinary into the lovable.

My friend Cara of the Dorothy Exchange, who has the ability to cultivate children’s learning from nature, and grown-ups learning to do beautiful things by hand through her Skillshare–inspired by Dorothy Day (swoon!). What she notices and passes on to her children, and those around her is so encouraging to me in the ways I can also integrate simple beauty and wonder into each day.

I am listening for her words as I try to intentionally prepare our home for Advent.

Jack Jezreel, founder of JustFaith ministries and author of A New Way to Be Church. His words are lingering with me, along with his deep love for the Catholic Church which seems to fuel his innovation in the very places parishes have run out of creativity–by way of a new take on empowering parishioners to meet the needs of their local communities in new ways. To heed his words would challenge us to see just how much more we might do, and how we might be changed by re-imagining what it looks like to meet the needs of the marginalized and our role in it.

I hear these words lately as I enter our parish.

It turns out that paying any heed to their wise voices or practices is a true act of resistance to the culture of comparison as well as consumerism,which is a God-send this time of year. Not just theirs, of course. Any words that help us to see the goodness of what is, minus the analysis of how it may compare to anything else.  I’m finding their voices echoing in my head as I begin the process of clearing out the clutter of my heart and making room for the Christ child this season.

Advent is near and we can feel it. There is an equally pithy little phrase that can help in times like these when we long for something more and maintain a testy relationship with what is: ‘Already and not yet.’ This is eschatology in a nutshell–or really great fuel for prayer life. In the same way we desire the perfection of what is to be, we are mired down right here in the present circumstances, playing whatever role we have been given to bring about the Kingdom on Earth–as imperfect and messy as that may be.

Happily, we are meant for both.

We crave beauty, we seek it, and we are nourished by it. All of this is good. However, I’m beginning to suspect (maybe late to the party) that we are culturally un-learning how to see beauty, and therefore struggle with gloomy times like these. Likely this is why hygge has caught on in such a big way–because we are simply over the disposable, glittery, insta-beauty, and craving something richer, more substantial. The bottom line is, the more substantial thing is not a thing at all.

Rather, the substance consists of unlikely friends, and unexpected glimpses of goodness for which we will never tire of searching;The days that were interrupted by persistent and compelling distractions. Now more than ever, would that we all be seekers of small and ordinary wonders.

Here’s to a sufficient & joyful Thanksgiving for you and yours!

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Happy Feast of the Epiphany—the day we commemorate the arrival of the Magi at the birthplace of the Christ child, by way of a star. It is also the day our Eastern brothers and sisters celebrate their Christmas feast.

The Magi have always held a particular place of intrigue in my heart.  No doubt this is a lingering effect of the family heirloom wise men we set out each year as a child, painted by my great aunt.

Without fail, these characters are the most interesting and ornate to arrive at the manger scene—riding camels by night and representing educated, foreign, seekers; they are often depicted wearing brightly-colored robes and turbans, with boxes of precious and symbolic gifts no one would have thought to bring a child born in a manger.

Gold: precious metal

Frankincense: fragrant perfume

Myrrh: oil of anointing

In Jesus’ case, it’s been speculated that the gift of gold would have implied his kingship, frankincense, Jesus’ priestly role, and myrrh a foretelling of his death and the anointing he would receive.

Attentiveness

Epiphany is one of those words that has somehow made its way it into the cultural vernacular and I love it—it implies a great revelation or discovery.  Best of all, we might hear this phrase casually in a business meeting or a brainstorming session! It continues to give a nod to the light that revealed the Light of the world at the manger as an experience accessible to anyone paying attention.

Outside of this day, the Magi don’t receive a lot of attention in the Nativity story. Yet, if it weren’t for their attentiveness to the stars, or the wisdom they received (and responded to) in the quiet of a dream to bypass King Herod, the story we have been celebrating these past twelve days might have been told differently.

Darkness

Providentially, my library request for Barbara Brown Taylor’s, Learning to Walk in the Dark arrived during Advent, and I devoured it. I devoured it because of its beautiful metaphors for the Advent season, but the compelling way she describes our wonderment around the less-familiar world illuminated by stars. She speaks of our suspicion of what we don’t know, as well as our complete and utter dependence upon our time in the dark for any illumination we hope to find.

Instead, I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again,  so that there is really only one logical conclusion.  I need darkness as much as I need light.”

Barbara Brown Taylor’s, Learning to Walk in the Dark 

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We in the northern hemisphere might be experts on this by now. This half of the year, with its fleeting daylight hours and lengthy evenings, offers us a necessary downbeat counterpart to the perky, staccato of summer hours. The land rests, and so too, do we. Rather than cookouts and softball, we’re called to quiet a bit. More often than not, this means a retreat inside, to catch up on a book, schedule a meeting, see a movie.But, what if our quiet invited us to step outside?

Owling

I took Barbara at her word over Christmas, inspired a little by Jane Yolen’s Owl Moon, and took our Christmas crew owling after dinner in the dark of the night—which is to say we went walking at night in hopes of spotting or listening to our neighboring great horned owls. It was cold and crisp and we didn’t spot any owls. What we did was venture into the mystery of the darkness outside of our front door and our routine that other nights is off-limits. We trekked over snow and bridge and trail together in silence and anticipation of what we might find.

We are not Magi, but as the familiar star over our garage came back into view upon our return, it felt good to be seeking and thrilling to be on the lookout. In the spirit of the wise men, may 2019 find us on the lookout for an epiphany or two of our own.

“…new life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”

Barbara Brown Taylor’s, Learning to Walk in the Dark 

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For those of you interested in other book suggestions for the New Year, hop on over to Blessed Is She for a month-by-month book list, paired with the twelve fruits of the Holy Spirit.

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Shannan Martin’s words have been speaking truth to my heart, lately. (*Excellent podcast, here, or put The Ministry of Ordinary Places on your hold list at the library), because she has this compelling way of making the truly mundane, shine with the light of the Incarnation and I need someone like that speaking this truth into my ear. Maybe you do, too.

Because I can feel that desire welling up inside of me as Advent approaches, as we plan to go and chop down our Christmas tree this weekend, that I want it to sparkle, to shine–to offer a peaceful place of respite. These desires are good on the whole. And yet, they fool me into thinking that I might have some semblance of control in this thing called life…Jesus himself didn’t wait for a time when the world was finally sparkly and ready; he simply entered the human story. He was born into the mess and beauty of it, which I suspect, is exactly where I am meant to spend my days.

As the images from the conflict at the border roll in, and we see more and more individuals and families seeking a place of safety and welcome while we’re on the lookout for the Christ child, I am humbled by the thought that my home should provide anything but an open door; Humbled by the privilege to hope for anything more than peace.

Simple gift

I’m trying to see this mundane week (the way Shannan describes) for what it is—for what God is inviting me into, for the privilege that it is, and the occasions that seemed unwelcome, but turned out to be gift.

-My daughter and I biffed it while holding hands (and missing the curb) on the way to the store—we have matching skinned knees and I’ve wrecked my second pair of jeans for the week—after my first one was painted the same color as my daughters’ pre-baby shower primping on Saturday.

I was still able to pull the wagon all the way to pre-school, despite my skinned up knee & we now have matching band aids.

-While hosting a family dinner, my daughter asked why our table is always so crowded–a characteristic I don’t always appreciate for the gift that it is. *To be fair, “always” is a stretch, but it does show signs of improvement.

-I made a trip to pick up something across town, only to realize when I got home, half of the contents were missing…and they’re being held for me until I can get back.

-On the way to first grade (after noticing my gas tank was on empty), I smelled something foul in the car, only to realize that the contents of our very rank, very full compost bin dripped down my pant leg while I took it outside.

-Another mom and I accidentally have meshed our volunteer days rather than alternating Tuesday math groups, and we keep showing up again for the same shift. And teachers got double help that day.

-The Kirby man, “needs to put food on the table,” so I sit through yet another demonstration of the latest model in my (apparently dusty) living room.

-I am now, sitting idle for hours while our car gets worked on—forcing me to write—stinky pants and all (*I’m hoping against hope that I don’t get dubbed ‘the stinky mom’ in my daughter’s class).

The car work is under warranty and my children are fed, and  in school today. So, at the end of the day, all will be well. These have been hiccups in an overall comical week.

Lofty expectations

The Bible study I’m in right now is working through the Gospel of John, and it has been striking how even in the first six chapters, the theme of expectation has been so prevalent. Over and over the crowd seeks to question–even kill Jesus, because he doesn’t meet their expectations of the Messiah.

…Can anything good come from Nazareth? –John 1: 43

…How can a person once grown old be born again? –John 3:4

…How can you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?… Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us this well and drank from it himself with his children and his flock? –John 4:9

…Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph? Do we not know his father and mother? Then how can he say, ‘I have come down from heaven?’ –John 6: 42

It’s been a weekly reminder that there’s a long list of beliefs that I, too, have held with a white-knuckled grip, about the ways God ‘should’ behave, how I expect God to show up, or the acceptable places for God to enter into my life. Over and over this misguided understanding has been shattered by the God who is Mystery.

So, thank you Shannan for your words. Thank you to artists like Bro. Mickey McGrath, Heather Sleightholm, Michael Adams, for your images of the modern day Holy Family. Thank you God, for days that leave me laughing at myself and the desires I grip so tightly about how things should go. Thank you for the gift of being dropped into the middle of this imperfect place, armed with enough grace to match my own short-sightedness, and a sense of humor! Here’s to an Advent season with its peace and spirit of welcome, that leaves us in the wake of smoldering expectations.

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Bringing Light

“There is no “right” way to enter into the season of Advent. It remains an opportunity to be on the lookout for the shimmering light of Christ, like the Magi, even when it feels far-off. It is one of the few practices of waiting we afford ourselves at this point in time. Yet it can be cause for so much impatience when we look ahead to the celebration just around the corner. How do we contain ourselves?”

You can read the rest I shared on preparing for Advent  (which starts Sunday!) over at Blessed Is She. ..

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Ever Faithful One, bringer of Light. The week is beginning whether or not I am ready. 

As the days unfurl, I am asking for many things: Peace. Patience. Perspective.

I believe that it is You upon whom the future rests. Would that my life and love model this trust– let this peace settle deep within me.

When I am troubled by the things before me. I ask you to provide the ‘long view’ so as to be patient with all that is incomplete and imperfect–around me and within me.

Attune my vision and awareness to the beauty and gifts already within reach. Guide me to seek out these reminders as much in times of trial as in times of joy.

Move in me so I cannot become complacent.

Grant me the perspective to recognize even the faintest light that I might see, if even in the dark.

Amen

Katie Cassady

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