We emptied the stashed away boxes early this year, the girls and I, lugging, sorting out of the deep closet at the far end of things.
It wasn’t because I wanted to get on with the holidays. It’s that I was traveling this Thanksgiving and I wanted to come home to glitter and sparkle before I had to go back to work.
Besides it was one of those days.
A grass barren, tree naked day. All things broken, bent and cold.
The fickleness of mood kept trying to dodge all things broken, bent and cold in my mind and I purposed to be grateful.
I am not a woman inclined to blame all dark moods on a hormone imbalance even though it may well be the reason for the seratonin plummet. It’s just that I was raised not to wallow.
My mood elevator on the broken and bent, cold day was inside blue and gray totes.
The manger stands alone.
When I want to see inside I must bend.
I must come closer.
I must narrow my eyes so that all the periphery of Christmas Right Here And Now becomes blurred.
It is Advent and I am lighting candles.
Advent; a coming into place.
His Coming to All Things Broken.
Yet one day it is He who willing breaks for me, the one chipped and knocked about. Blemished.
It is he, who, after jeers, after lashes, after thorns, after nails, breaks for us all that we might be unbroken for good.
We know this now when we look into the stable, knees bent and eyes piercing focus.
All things bent, broken and cold are but shadows in the light of The Coming.
All things sparkling and glittering pale dull when He comes into place.