This Sunday was the start of the season! Advent marks the beginning of the Church year! A time of starting over, and making ourselves new again! Happy New (church) Year!
It may come as a surprise to people who know me but I usually don't pay attention to Advent at all.
Growing up in a Catholic town it seemed that Advent was for children, and Lent was for adults. Advent was cheerful, warm and fun. Every day we opened a new door on the Advent calendar at home. Every week we lit a new candle on the wreath at school. We sang carols at church. We gave each other secret gifts.
In contrast, Lent was cold, dark and scary. The music at church was about blood and death. And although I participated in abstaining from meat, and putting money in the rice bowl instead of spending it on sweets, I dreaded Lent coming each year, and couldn't wait for it to all be over. I had no idea why the adults didn't just cancel it.
As I grew up, I began to appreciate Lent more for its spiritual benefits, but I became removed from Advent. Preparing for Christmas became stressful the way it is constantly depicted in secular culture. My Christmas ends up being wonderful and magical, but I always arrive there wondering where the hell I've been for four entire weeks. At Christmas Mass every year I am a little sorry that I skipped Advent, because I feel like I've been dropped off on Christmas instead of finding my way there.
But not this year. This year I want to recapture some of the actual anticipation and joy I felt as a kid before Dec. 25th. I want it to come from an honest place so that my energy isn't forced, and my holiday spirit isn't sicky-sweet or abrasive. I want to be able to share that energy and renewal with other people when they need it the most.
And I'm going to do it all by observing a mindful Advent.
I know a lot of my friends and family have no interest in religion, and rest assured I don't mean to force (too many)* angels and shepherds on you in the next four weeks.
But I am going to try to check in here at least once a week on how I'm doing with Advent. It's a resolution that I'm hoping will keep me on track with my other resolutions.
Advent is a journey from darkness into light. I could use some light. And if you could too, I hope you'll come with me.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Angels and shepherds still included, and the qualifier "too many" to be defined on an individual basis by participating bloggers while supplies last. Management is not responsible for rogue shepherds or rowdy angels.
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
I don't want any of it to go to waste
7am: "Those are mine!" The security guard is staring suspiciously at the bags of men's clothes
at the door. "Well, not mine," I qualify. "But I left them there when I went to park my car." The guard laughs and we grab up all the bags of shirts and shoes and rush them inside.
11am: "Thank you. Thank you, all of you, for working today," It's the program wide Director of Nursing, and he's standing beside the BMH director, and she is holding a bag of chocolates out to us, over and over again. Barry hugs all of us before he leaves. Sarah snaps a photo of the turkey family made out of rubber gloves and tells us again how thankful she is for us.
12:30pm: "You're going to town on those peas, huh?" The man laughs. I am sitting in the activity room with a plate of food on my lap. I am surrounded by patients and we are watching House. I realize with somewhat of a start how natural these traditions have begun to feel. One of my patients approaches me shyly and asks if she can wrap up her leftovers. "I don't want any of it to go to waste," she explains.
4:30pm: "Michelle's here! Michelle's here!" I feel as though I've entered a dream. My Aunt and Uncle's new house is three years old, but that's how long it's been since I've spent a Thanksgiving with my family. Light bounces off colored glass, and I don't know where to look first. My family, larger somehow than I expected turns toward me, smiling. I feel dirty and tired looking in my scrubs. I feel like I don't belong here, and although my day was easy, tears threaten my cheeks. Then somehow my mother's arms are around me and Ralph is taking my coat and Rosina is pouring a glass of wine and Auntie Mame is asking questions and I am not crying at all.
"Do you want one?" asks my small cousin chewing on a caramel. He is looking at his little brother. Sam nods.
"You can't have one," Nicholas says, without a hint of malice. He looks at me apologetically, "they're too chewy. - But you can have something else, Sam."
And when my tiny cousin, now old enough to speak but still a stranger to me, looks at me as if to ask if this is all ok, I nod. And he smiles shyly and nods back.
at the door. "Well, not mine," I qualify. "But I left them there when I went to park my car." The guard laughs and we grab up all the bags of shirts and shoes and rush them inside.
11am: "Thank you. Thank you, all of you, for working today," It's the program wide Director of Nursing, and he's standing beside the BMH director, and she is holding a bag of chocolates out to us, over and over again. Barry hugs all of us before he leaves. Sarah snaps a photo of the turkey family made out of rubber gloves and tells us again how thankful she is for us.
12:30pm: "You're going to town on those peas, huh?" The man laughs. I am sitting in the activity room with a plate of food on my lap. I am surrounded by patients and we are watching House. I realize with somewhat of a start how natural these traditions have begun to feel. One of my patients approaches me shyly and asks if she can wrap up her leftovers. "I don't want any of it to go to waste," she explains.
4:30pm: "Michelle's here! Michelle's here!" I feel as though I've entered a dream. My Aunt and Uncle's new house is three years old, but that's how long it's been since I've spent a Thanksgiving with my family. Light bounces off colored glass, and I don't know where to look first. My family, larger somehow than I expected turns toward me, smiling. I feel dirty and tired looking in my scrubs. I feel like I don't belong here, and although my day was easy, tears threaten my cheeks. Then somehow my mother's arms are around me and Ralph is taking my coat and Rosina is pouring a glass of wine and Auntie Mame is asking questions and I am not crying at all.
"Do you want one?" asks my small cousin chewing on a caramel. He is looking at his little brother. Sam nods.
"You can't have one," Nicholas says, without a hint of malice. He looks at me apologetically, "they're too chewy. - But you can have something else, Sam."
And when my tiny cousin, now old enough to speak but still a stranger to me, looks at me as if to ask if this is all ok, I nod. And he smiles shyly and nods back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)