When began a snowfall of epic proportions, Candace and I went wandering around town, wondering at how all my favorite haunts were being transformed. I love the first snow, the dusty glitter that sticks to every intricate detail.
Christmas trees for sale along Market St.
This church, I'm convinced, burst from the ground of its own accord, having been erected by fauns in Narnia.
See what I mean? Market House is even more inviting
under that lithe, living lace.
"We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade, the presence of God. The world is crowded with God. God walks everywhere incognito. And the incognito is not always hard to penetrate. The real labour is to remember, to attend. In fact, to come awake. Still more, to remain awake."
With Advent underway, I've been thinking a lot about hope.
Like the generations who waited for the Messiah's arrival,
we wait for Him to come again.
We wait for many things, and hope enables us to really live in the waiting.
Hope is not a blissful denial of the present, eyes fixated on an expected end. It is an embracing of the reality of today's messiness while expecting a brighter tomorrow.
We shrink from pain and bleakness, but in estranging our hearts from walking their valleys we forfeit the full ecstasy of our hopes realized.
Whether in the Advent story or in this chapter of our lives, we need not rush too fast to the end, where everything is resolved. Beauty can be found in dissonance. Embrace it with this reassurance: we are not here alone.