With the temperature dropping below freezing
the last few nights,
I’ve noticed the ground,
particularly around protruding roots of trees—
a crusty kind of hard looking—
and feeling, when I touched it—
cold, uninviting, unforgiving,
Those roots sink deep though,
far deeper down than the seed
from which they once sprang ever reached—
below even the hardest of freezes—
deep enough to sustain the tree through the winter.
And these days, we’re reminded,
that our roots extend down
from the story we were once told—
into the story lived and known—
into remembered experience
and experienced truth.
So as we wait
for the story to unfold again,
may it’s having unfolded in us
— that angelsong would echo peace and beauty even in our silences,
— that the light of heaven would guide us from home to home,
— that the exhortation not to be afraid would penetrate all our fears,
— that there would never not be room for a stable hope
in the midst of even chaos,
— that a baby’s shriek—the wail of the word made flesh
would continue to incarnate the most improbable of hopes,
— that light would continue to shine, incomprehensibly, in the darkness,
— that joy and wonder might be birthed amidst the way things are.
This, our Advent/Christmas prayer.