What a wonderful family time we had during the Thanksgiving holiday, and when our son and daughter-in-love left to begin the trek back to Cleveland, I felt withdrawal cross the threshold.
But I had a plan: start decorating for Christmas.
If the house was no longer filled with their presence, I could at least fill the house with anticipation of the next holiday. I could create the setting for Advent, my favorite liturgical season of the year.
Of course, that is easier said than done, but I love the process. At least that's what I tell myself each year when I face the mountain of plastic bins labeled "Christmas."
But I have a plan: Start the way I always start -- unpack the Santas carved by our friend Al. In fact, the holiday actually begins not on the first Sunday in Advent, but when Al lets us know the new Santa is ready.
I suppose I could consult my photo stream and arrange this happy collection the same as last year, but how fun would that be? Nope, one by one I find a place for Santa holding the lantern and Santa and Mrs Claus leaning in for a smooch and Santa with a bag of toys peeking over his shoulder. I tweak and adjust and stand back and study the composition and move this one or that one just a bit to the left. Voila!
Little by little over the course of two days, Advent descended. Like the angel Gabriel's visit to Mary.
And now we are ready.
Ready to wait.
Ready to prepare.
Ready to open to the magic of the season. The promise of the season.
Ready to open to whatever is next.
To discover what this time means.
To discover what this time means.
Observing Advent and Christmas may not be your tradition, but I am quite sure you have lived seasons of waiting, of preparation for what is not quite known. We can wait with each other.
An Invitation
What calls to you right now? How are you preparing and how will you wait? I would love to know.
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