Community Writing Project: Advent Traditions

The morning we trim the tree, fat flakes dress the earth in threads of white. In the boughs of the naked maple—a flash of red—a cardinal in a nest of snow. I watch from the window, my feet planted in warm. The house glows soft with twinkling light.

It’s quiet—quiet here, quiet inside the walls of me. I touch the moment gently—feel around inside my heart.

Is this how it feels, I wonder?

I’ve been looking for Christmas for 18 years—ever since I married my husband and felt free to open my heart to this beloved tradition. I grew up in a home that did not celebrate the birth of the Christ-child, see. And every year when December 25 approaches, I feel the bindings of those roots. I want to leave a different legacy for my children—one that delves deep into the mystery of Christmas. Every year I look for just the right formula, try on different activities with my family in the quest for the perfect tradition.

So, when when my friend Charity asked me to help her with an Advent Community Writing project this year, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to spy on the traditions of others. We would like to invite you to consider what Advent means to you, its old traditions, its new lessons, and join us for a community writing project, Charity said. And I thought: Yippee! Maybe…just maybe, I will find the perfect fit for my own little family amongst these Advent experts.

But when I visited each of the fifty-five participants who linked up, I did not find the perfect tradition formula. What I found instead was a deeper appreciation for the sacred season we call Advent.

Over at the blog Straight Meandering, I was reminded to slow and savor the passing moments:

And so it is in every moment of every day. God is here, inhabiting the small and the humble. But we hurry from moment to moment and forget to see. We forget to dwell now, be still, know God.

Member KD Sullivan’s words from Journey to Epiphany urged me to open my eyes and see with Advent eyes every day.

And I find Him in the most common of places.
A bench. In a park.
A King. Amidst the ordinary.

Kimberlee Conway Ireton wonders, “Who will show us the way to the Christ child?” And in her reflection The Road to Bethlehem, she leads me there.

Sandra Heska King’s words were such a gift, as she celebrated the life of her mother and grieved her loss.

The joy of seeing deep in simple things. It’s a gift…I think of One who was born in a simple place, cradled by simple hands. His own hands healed the hurting and stretched out to conquer death. And so we dance. And the gift goes on.

Marilyn Yocum encouraged me to let the story fall fresh on my ears this Advent. Linda Chontos shared her family’s sweet tradition of baking a birthday cake for Jesus. And what is one to do when the empty next shanghais Advent? Write a poem about it, of course. I think Jim Schmotzer has the right idea about new traditions.

If you are Nancy Franson [link not available] and her friend Ethel, the annual Christmas photo with Santa takes on new meaning—fuzzy slippers and all! Pastor and blogger Brian Owen shared the wonder of waiting for his own child to be born during the Advent season. John at the beautiful due suggests that our Advent celebrations may be a bit too sedate and challenges us to crank up the volume.

There are so many beautiful essays and I wish I could quote them all but when I read Patricia Spreng's reflection called Trying on Advent, I realized this is it. This is how I feel. I am growing into Advent. And it's okay if I don't have it all figured out. That's part of the mystery of it all.

The snow that piles in the eaves where branches meet reminds me of home. There is a great open field between me and that place now, and today it is blanketed in snow. The cries of the past are muffled by this insulation and I don’t even think about the what-ifs. Today—I remember how beautiful the snow slept in the trees of my childhood home. This quiet as the snow drifts silently down.

This must be it, I think. This must be peace.

The water that has passed under the bridge is frozen and the light in the sky fades fast. But this shimmer—this glimmer—stays inside of me.

Let it shine, I pray. Let it shine.

If you'd like to visit all of these beautiful Advent reflections, hop on over to Charity's blog Wide Open Spaces. Be prepared for a retreat when you enter in. And here is a big thank you to all our community writing project participants. Happy waiting, sweet friends. Let's wait together.

Image by Noukka Signa. Used with permission. Sourced via Flickr. Post by Laura J. Boggess.