the candle of hope

i never thought there would come a day when i would chose to not watch rudolf the red-nosed reindeer.  it has come.  it's pouring rain and has been an awful day.  just all covered in yuck. and at five o'clock- everyone just melted down. except jude- bless his lovely little heart- he is such a good brother.  bryn was bawling because jude came home with a styrofoam airplane from the kindergarten prize box for finishing his reading log- and bryn wanted one. zoe was melting down about not wanting, and wanting help with her sewing sampler and i was just really wanting some peace and quiet.  so i pulled out rudolf and let them watch.  and now i have an hour of quiet.  i can hear the rain, and the squeaking of rudolf's red nose.

by 10 in the morning i was already failing to lead by example.  i was angry. i was unable to rise above my emotions.  not only did i not add positive energy into the universe- i added much negativity. sorry for that. 
it was a day of me feeling sorry for myself- me wishing i was elsewhere- me full of doubt- full of discouragement. 

ironic in this season of advent.

advent means 'coming' or 'arrival' and the season is about anticipation and preparation and longing.  it's about hope.  it is about waiting for jesus.  it's about fullfillment of promise.  it's about relationship.  it's about the intersection of God and man. 

in advent we light a candle each week- and in this first week of advent we light the candle of hope.  how slippery hope is.  ephemeral.  some days we can grab it and hug it and it sustains us- we feel full of it- we see all the little pieces adding themselves to it like a magnet and it grows and we sail away on it.  then other days we can't see it at all- not even the shape is left- it's just vanished away- and all the little pieces of the day push our memory of it further away.

people who are dying often want to talk about hope.  they want to hang on to hope.  its a huge part of our human experience - it gets us up in the morning.  we spend our lives changing or realigning our hopes- re- framing them- because we need to have it- so when hope for one thing leaves- we have to have hope for something else.  i remember when we were dealing with the awfulness of jude's diagnosis of a probable brain tumor, my friend called asking what she could do, and i said, 'find me a piece of hope in this'.  it's what we cling to.

i've spent a lot of time thinking about hope with zoe.  what do i hope for her? how do i let the day to day influence that hope? why do i so easily let it be stolen away? i criticize her for giving up too soon and i do the same.  i forget that God is a god of small things- broken things- and impossible situations.  and there in is the hope.  i, myself, in my arrogance or my belief in my control or influence, let go of hope.  i look inward or just in front of me and blow out the match. 

perhaps in this advent season i can embrace the candle of hope. maybe i can and should light it all day, not just at night, to be reminded of God's promises-to let go of expectation, and to be filled with anticipation, which is much more, which implies hope, implies faith. maybe i can be still and  wait in that.