The Coming

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.

Out came the christmas mugs which were properly shelved.  Top-hatted snowmen and mustachioed nutcrackers were set down into a winter wonderland of fake snow and twinkle.


Teddy bears and wooden snowflakes were swathed in lace and potpourri and there is even a Santa,  corner-tucked and pack- empty waiting for red twisted white sugar canes.

The manger stands alone.

On a table by itself it lays under brown hay string, only the stable shape, visible and common.

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.

The shepherds, the camel, the wisemen, even the angel, show signs of brokenness.

They’ve been chipped. Knocked about. They all show the gashes of the inevitable bruising that comes with being around for a long time.  Only the Baby is without Blemish.

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.

One thought on “The Coming

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