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
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.