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A blessing for weeks when the light is on its way
We have spent so much of these months practicing walking in the dark, haven’t we? A pandemic and loss and grief have darkened our path, but the beautiful thing is that even when we didn’t know what we were walking toward, we kept going anyway. Kept praying anyway. Kept creating anyway. Kept parenting anyway. Kept healing anyway. Kept washing our hands anyway. Kept teaching anyway. Kept loving anyway. And somewhere along the line, perhaps without us knowing it, our eyes adjusted, and we could see a little bit more — see perhaps that we’re further along than we thought we were. We’re crawling our way out of the dark.
The winter solstice is here, and each year it teaches us that the darkness, no matter how thick, no matter how long, only lasts for a season. The light is always on its way. It’s always been with us, as a matter of fact; perhaps it’s just been too faint for us to notice it. And maybe that’s the real meaning of Christmas after all: that the Light has always been with us. God has not loved us from afar. Emmanuel. God with us.
So may we receive the blessing of the light this week, the blessing that even if our hearts are battered, or they are bruised, or they are tender, or they are tired, we are not alone in the longest, darkest night. May we find fragments of light in our homes, in our faith, in ourselves. May we be warmed by the spaces and faces of those which make our hearts shine. May we know the closeness of the Light with us, the Light in us, and may we prepare him room.
You are loved this week, friends. This week, and every week.
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A blessing for weeks when we’re waiting
It’s Advent. For most Christian traditions, it’s the beginning of our liturgical year, marked by the expectant waiting and preparation for Christmas. Christ-mas. Christ’s coming.
We are a people in waiting, aren’t we? Waiting for a cure. Waiting for a vaccine. Waiting for the test results. Waiting for that phone call. Waiting for an opportunity. Waiting for a second chance. Waiting for that apology. Waiting for the big break. We spend so much of our time holding our breath, teetering on the edge of whatever is coming next. And it’s exhausting.
Because when we’re in that great waiting room, we live by the “what if”s. What if it doesn’t work out the way we’re hoping it does? What if we don’t get what we want? What if we’re disappointed? What if we come up empty-handed? We spend so much time and emotional energy, take up so much brain space occupying the possibility of that which hasn’t happened and friends, let me tell you, it is draining our very souls.
So this week, what if we imagine a new what if? What if we dare to believe that this here, this moment, this real, actual life that’s happening in this right-now is what we have been waiting for all along, even if we didn’t know it? What if we look around at our lives, take stock of everything, and declare with joy that this is good?
May you know the blessing this week of seeing the beauty in the ordinary moments. May your meals nourish more than just your stomach; may you feel fed in your soul as you give thanks for always enough. May you have warm company and warm memories to carry you through the cold of the approaching winter. May you feel strengthened by those who love you. May you give grace and gentleness to yourself as we hunker back down for another quarantine. May you smile whenever you look in the mirror. May you laugh loud, and laugh often, laugh so hard your sides hurt and your cheeks feel tight from smiling. May you get enough sleep, and may you remember to take your medicine, and may your feet be warm and cozy while the rain and snow falls outside.
There is goodness here, I promise you. You may have to squint to see it, but it exists. You have a beautiful story inside of you, dear one, and with every waking moment, another page is being turned. You are the one you’ve been waiting for. What if this week you practice believing it?
You are loved this week, friends. This week, and every week.
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A blessing for weeks when we give thanks
As we in the United States prepare for Thanksgiving Day, many of us are caught in the space where we are grateful while wishing things were different at the same time. Our lives these days are anything but perfect, but they’re real, and there’s beauty to be found in that. One day we will look back and we will remember the pockets of goodness we were able to find in this time. We will be thankful for our beautiful honest things because they tell our stories, the stories of who we are today, right now, as we figure this new thing out.
So this week may we be blessed as we give thanks:
for a fridge that is full and children’s bellies that are too;
for music that soothes;
for the click of the heater turning on
and the weight of the knit blanket across our knees;
for the smell of orange peels and peppermint;
for the holy way we roll out dough on our countertops
like our mothers before us did
while they prepared to feed their families;
for health insurance;
for the technology that allows us to work from home
and still earn a paycheck;
for the psalms;
for the smaller, more intimate gatherings around our tables;
for a planet that is experiencing less air pollution
as we hunker down indoors once more;
for slowing down;
for morning light on the yoga mat;
for texts and voicemails from loved ones;
for medical advancements
and people sewing masks for those on the front lines;
for the doctors and nurses
and all those who work in healthcare
who are working tirelessly to care for our ill;
for teachers who love our babies
over screens and through letters;
for long division practice
and stories written in brightly colored notebooks;
for plastic whale sharks
and afternoon dance parties
and messy bookshelves
and soap
to wash the marker
and the germs away;
for books and Bibles
and bouquets of flowers.
May we have eyes to see our particular gifts this week, even if to others they appear to be simply ordinary.
And may we remember Blessing’s sister, Prayer, and may we recognize there are many for whom giving thanks this year is more difficult.May we pray
for the children who miss
playing with their friends
and parents who hear the cries
and feel the guilt because of deadlines;
for the elderly who live alone;
for the mamas wondering where the next meal is going to come from;
for the laid-off
and struggling small businesses;
for the grandparents who miss their grandkids
and those who can’t shelter
in place
because they have no roof over their heads;
for families afraid of losing their food stamps and
for families who hoard
at the expense of others;
for teens stocking grocery shelves
and tired cashiers
and our healthcare heroes
and transport truck drivers;
for children with cancer
and their families who face the
heartbreaking reality of having to say goodbye;
for those who live in food deserts and
out-of-grid areas
because our society still doesn’t see internet access
(or lack thereof)
as a human rights issue;
for leaders trying to do the right thing;
for those who quite simply couldn’t
care less
about a stock market crash
when they don’t make enough to pay their rent
or keep their water from being shut off.This week as we count our blessings may we do so with remembrance that we all belong to each other, and that we’re called to celebrate with those who celebrate but also mourn with those who grieve. May we find ways to be comfort to those who need it in these strange, socially-distanced times. May we remember to love our neighbors as much as we love ourselves and know that, through word or deed, we have the capacity to be be someone else’s blessing.
You are loved this week, friends. This week and every week.