For you are my hope, O Lord God. Psalm 71:5a (KJV)
When I was a child, my parents didn't hang a Christmas wreath on our front door. I can only speculate that as dairy farmers they were too busy working in order to support our family, pay frequent vet bills, and purchase the firewood necessary to heat our old, drafty farmhouse to a tolerable temperature. A wreath would dry out. Its dead needles would lie scattered across the doorstep by March and tracked into the house by my brother and me, displeasing our mother. A wreath wasn't a priority in the scheme of our farm life.
Hanging a wreath on my own front door marks this pre-Advent week for me. The circle of the wreath's body matches the circle of my wedding band, embodying eternity. This season I chose a blue ribbon, an Advent color, which teaches me patient waiting - in all things. I'm pleased when it flutters in the breeze on windy days. The gold balls reflect the light as I imagine golden light shining on the Magi's faces while they offered their gifts of frankincense and myrrh to the wee babe. I dream of a young drummer boy tapping his drum nearby. Perhaps a lamb kept time to the beat.
Hope reigns in the waiting, the gold, the gifts, and a young mother's tired smile. The days will soon lengthen. The light will come. On Christmas Eve, I'll take a slow, deep breath and trust, that indeed, the babe has come.
No comments:
Post a Comment