I keep thinking about the cozy Advent that is alluding me. When I yearn for this…
I seem to get this instead….
This brings to mind a poem I wrote a few years ago, lo ~ it still applies…
In these days of Advent I find that I am still in the wilderness.
My preference for Advent is
contemplative music and candles,
babies leaping in mothers’ wombs
and tucking baby Jesus in the bread box til Christmas Eve.
Instead I feel Your call to be about “John the Baptist” work ~
a voice crying in the wilderness
making the crooked path straight
making the rough way smooth
Where did his voice come from?
How did he learn to use it?
Did he have to get permission before speaking?
Heavens no! Or, rather – heavens yes!
His voice was heaven-given, granted, ordained.
So he used it. To prepare the way.
Are You not calling me to claim the voice You granted me at birth,
ordained at my ordination?
A voice that speaks up
in the wilderness of the disability process,
in the wilderness of managing pain while seeking wholeness,
in the wilderness of a culture that
chooses loud over contemplative,
burns a hundred electric lights rather than 3 white candles,
doesn’t value babies leaping in wombs
won’t acknowledge Jesus as the Bread of Life
Behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness ,and speak tenderly to her.
Oh, there You are, present and waiting, in the wilderness ~
Offering Light in the candles
Singing Love in the music
Birthing Faith in the womb
Nourishing Life with bread
And by Your voice we hear, Emmanuel, God-with-us.
Still singing my way through the wilderness of Advent.
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