Light one candle.
Watch the flame flicker and bend, dancing in the dark to invisible currents in the air. See how the soft glow transforms the room, muting hard edges and bathing every inch in light. Remember how God does this, too: changes everything by the smallest light.
Sit with one verse.
Names for Jesus abound. Counting down each day with one name has long been our family’s practice of hope in Advent. But after a year spent in the slowest lectio divina with the Gospel of Luke, I’m learning to savor the smallest morsel like the last sweet bite of dessert held on the spoon.
Choose one line for Advent and let it roll on your tongue each day. Speak it alone or scribble it on your calendar. Turn it over and over, letting it intersect with the news and the needs of your life.
Let a single verse distill the truth of the good news for this slow season, in this hard year.
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Count the stars.
Take this one literally. Step outside or sit by a clear window, and try to count the stars you see. As your head turns to take in the span of the sky and your eyes slowly settle into the dim of the dark, you’ll start to catch more and you’ll start to lose track. Precisely the point.
Once you start noticing pinpricks of hope and glimmers of grace, a few more come into view. Soon your head is spinning and you’re swimming in the vastness above and your smallness below. Feel yourself here, a tiny but beloved part of the universe.
Imagine the God who created all that. And you.
Choose one figure.
We crowd the creche with every shepherd and king, donkey and sheep under the sun. What a gift, to remember how the whole of humanity could crowd around the manger, from the margins of society to strangers from distant lands, all of them woven into a strange story they never could have dreamed.
But what if you sat with just one this season?
What if you journeyed through Advent by Mary’s side, feeling the weight and wonder of what birth will bring in a few short weeks, her body and being on the cusp of change?
Or walk beside Joseph, steady and faithful on the long journey, leaving behind homeland and hopes for an ordinary life, turning instead toward the unknown to which God has shaken you awake?
Or keep watch with the shepherds, the ones up late doing hard work, the first to hear the Gospel’s good news amid the stench and noise of the night’s labor, the overlooked ones interrupted by angels?
The familiar tale can be entered by a hundred doorways. Each one sheds new light on the story, the greatest ever told.
Savor something.
A bite of a Christmas cookie. The laughter of a friend on the phone. Your family’s faces before the Zoom call ends. The first few notes of your favorite hymn. One word in a sermon or Scripture. The sight of freshly fallen snow, untouched by any creature.
Advent is among the shortest seasons of the liturgical year, and the smallest are meant to be savored. Linger with one Advent moment each day, for just a few minutes.
Let the holy waiting teach you.
Many thanks to all of you who reached out to buy books for the holidays. Your purchases made a big difference after a long year. Delightfully, you cleared my shelves of several titles so I’ve ordered more to restock!
If you’d still like to purchase a book for yourself or a loved one, reply to this email and I’ll send them your way.
Only two more weeks till Christmas (I KNOW) and we’ll get to start this beauty of a book together. Emmanuel: A Christmas Feast is a collection of Scripture, prayer, and daily reflections to deepen your celebration of the whole Christmas season.
Learn more here and get a copy to give or keep as a Christmas keepsake—a way to pray with the names of Jesus every year.
Peace,
Laura
Connect with me on Instagram | Facebook | Twitter
Find my books here: Everyday Sacrament | Grieving Together | Prayers for Pregnancy & Birth | To Bless Our Callings | Living Your Discipleship