Black Friday: Bittersweet

Bittersweet

This morning as the bacon sizzled in the pan, I looked out the bay window to see a large black crow flying over the meadow behind our house. Something about the slow way he pushed down on the air with his massive wings put a song in my heart. He was unhurried, dipping low into the frost-tipped grasses, lifting feathered body high against a gray day dawning.

These past few days have felt like an extended Sabbath and as Sabbath-keeping always does, a quiet celebration has been kindled in my heart.

Yesterday we feasted with our loved ones and took our traditional after-dinner walk. My mother-in-law showed us the wild vines of Bittersweet growing tangled all along her property. She decorated the dining table with it this year and it seemed the perfect thing. After our walk, we lingered long in each other’s presence, keenly aware someone was missing, feeling the joyful ache of love and longing all wrapped up in each other. This will be the year of firsts without him, and we cling tightly to what is left behind, finding comfort in being together.

Tomorrow, we make that long drive to drop our boy back at his dorm and already I feel lonely for him. These are the ways God is preparing my heart for Advent—this crazy mix of joy and grief. It’s a strange feeling, this hollowing out of all the stuff of the world I carry in me to make room for the divine.

Philippians 2:5-11 says that Jesus made himself nothing. Being in very nature God … he made himself nothing. (NIV). The NRSV says he emptied himself. It’s the Greek verb form kenóō“to empty”.

In Christian theology, we call it kénōsis—the voluntary emptying of my own will and allowing myself to surrender to the will of God.

He cannot fill me unless I am empty.

The world empties me when I am too weak to do it myself. Circumstances steal joy, hope is squelched and love runs out the door. And I am empty … empty.

The morning winks at me and the sky is heavy with unshed rain and I open my heart to this season. That empty inside is a tender ache—softer than before … sweet somehow. I let this mystery of my own becoming comfort and awaken the wonder. The wonder of waiting for a Lord who never leaves me.

The winner of my Advent giveaway is … Kelli! Congratulations, friend! I’ll be in touch soon.

Giving Thanks: A Study of Light

fullsizeoutput_1f54

On Monday afternoon I went with my not-so-little Jeffrey and a good friend who also happens to be a photographer to take his senior pictures. We walked several blocks all over Charleston, stopping at mysterious places that seemed random to me but to my friend’s experienced eye held some special slant of beauty.  She’s been doing this a long time and makes amazing art, so I trusted her. I tagged along behind her purposeful steps, lugging off-camera lighting, a portable reflector, and sometimes discarded clothing from my son (“Layers,” I told him. “That’s how we’ll get the look we want.”)  At one point, as we stood on a quiet street in front of a colorful mural (only about a block away from my place of employment, but I never knew it was there. How do artists find these things?) my beautiful, talented friend stopped abruptly at the edge of the sidewalk while my son lumbered in the street.

“Wait.” She said. “Let me look at the light.”

She studied the sun play chiascuro over the patterned brick for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

This morning I rose before dawn and sat in my quiet place to watch the sun slip slow over the horizon—spilling grace on rooftops and frost-dipped grasses and washing the world in honeyed hues. As I reflected on all that I am thankful for, I remembered my friend’s words.

“Let me look at the light.”

I watched that amber glow bind up the rough edges of my every day world and I thought that choosing to give thanks must be a lot like looking for sunlight—illuminating beauty in even the darkest of life’s corners.

Isn’t this what we do when we engage in thanksgiving?

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come…No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God…It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens…to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens…(excerpt from President Abraham Lincoln’s Thanksgiving Proclamation, Oct. 3, 1863.)

Happy Thanksgiving, Beloveds. May you feast on the light of His love this day and always.

Don’t forget to leave a comment on this post Friday, November 25th, for a chance to win a signed copy of Kris Camealy’s Advent devotional Come Lord Jesus: The Weight of Waiting, a beautiful purple clutch purse, an Amethyst chip ring, and a lovely handcrafted Christmas ornament.

8208698884_21fdaccaee

Grateful

Last night, as Jeff and I walked under a rosy sky, that moon lifted it’s full body up over the hills of our little valley and set the sky on fire. This morning, when I took Bonnie out, frost still on every blade of grass, I saw the moon had shed his star-tears and left them in pools of light in our front yard. On this day of gratitude, I hear the earth singing praise. Happy Thanksgiving, Beloveds. May all your days be filled with light. You are God’s gift to me.

thxgiving2015