It doesn't feel like Advent

 

It doesn’t feel like Advent. I am not rushing from warmth to warmth trying not to let the cold get into my bones. I am not taking photos of frosted branches or slipping on black ice on my walk to, well, wherever. The sky is not so tight and close that I feel like I could reach up and touch it. The grayness is not painted on a tight canvas just above my head. And the days, while short, are not so minimal as to mean that both my morning and evening commutes are in darkness. Although this is our fourth Advent in Florida I miss the idea that on Christmas Eve, when all is finally quiet and still, or at least getting there. When there is no more to be said or done with gifts and ribbons. When the moment nears of the great mystery of that Sacred Birth – we literally come in out of the cold and dark into a church filled with warmth and light to break bread and listen for the silence of that moment of God kissing the earth with God’s presence in humanity.
Sometimes it is difficult to unravel the way we want to feel in a season and the reality of where we are. The temptation is to write it off.  It seems easier to ignore than to endure a difficult or disorienting Christmas which is unfamiliar or saddened in some way. I know that if I think that God is not speaking because I am not listening, then I am likely to miss out. I know that if I am not listening because I am mourning some emotional reward of the past, that is gone, then I really need to own that and look at what might be in store.
Funny, the weather is promising temperatures in the 30s tomorrow. I apologize. I will try harder to find Advent in the sunshine in future!