169: Advent

My tradition has the gift of seasons-

blocks of time that tell us that

things can become new again.

We can become new again.

Creation doesn’t have to be over.

One of these seasons arrives on the heels of winter

so we put on our jackets and walk to the sanctuary.

We scoop up hope by the handfuls

and light candles to warm the night.

We sing together,

because nothing is more hopeful than when people

sing together.

We let the children tell us the story.

We hang orange slices and holly in the window

to remember the sun and her colors.

We make wreaths of evergreen for our tables

to remember that the grey is temporary.

We bake bread and cookies and deliver them to

the mailman and our teachers.

We hold onto their warmth.

We send cards across state lines

wrapped in well wishes and prayers.

We talk about joy.

We dream about peace.

But most of all,

for a season,

we live like the world

really could change,

like creation isn’t over,

like it’s not too late to become new again.