This year, I'm going to have to dig a little deeper.
This year, I've been waiting. and waiting. and waiting. Waiting for an answer to when this virus might be brought under control. Waiting to hear when the vaccine will be widely available. (effective options will soon exist - that's HUGE!) Waiting for election results. Waiting to get the castle habitable, so I can get back to figuring out what I want to be when I grow up.
Why would I want to acknowledge yet another season of waiting?
Ah. This is waiting of a different sort. Advent isn't tap-your-foot-please-hurry-this-along waiting. (That's the type of waiting I've been doing all year.) Advent is pause-and-appreciate-the-here-and-now waiting.
My year has been woefully short of the Advent sort of waiting. While there were advantages to my headlong plunge into remodeling work - my days have been full, and after moving all day, I've been sleeping well despite the miasma of general anxiety lingering in the air - I haven't stopped much.
And my spirit knows it.
More and more, the problem of the moment is overwhelming. I grow short on patience. It's harder to get me to take care of my daily round of chores; I don't wanna. I don't want to get out to walk in the cold - until I get out there, when I thoroughly enjoy the crisp air. I am tired and grumpy and out of sorts and don't want to get out of bed in the morning.
It's time to stop and listen for the gifts the Advent season wants to bring to my life. Time to stop and light a candle and watch it flicker without distracting myself by reading the news of the moment. Time to look inside and see where I am; to see if any part of me is clearer yet on the next direction I want to take.
Time to pause. Appreciate the here and now.
Appreciate that, despite the odds, I am still here. Living. Now.
Good Is.
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