Hope is not joy.

Thanksgiving has washed away with the tide and the Advent season is upon us.  All of the sudden we are singing "Prepare the Way of the Lord"  and "Stay awake"  and "Oh Come Oh Come Emmanuel" which everyone knows.

The girls are playing with our nativity sets, and fighting over them.  We open our Advent "bag" each night and enjoy 1 piece of candy.  This year we are meeting with another family on the Sunday's of Advent and sharing our faith a bit- also just getting to know one another...

Something about Advent this year is feeling weighty and important.  I feel the shift of the world towards war and violence. I feel the weight of the stories of people looking for homes.   I feel the privilege of my own whiteness and my children's whiteness. I feel the deep challenge to love people who do not love me (well?).  My spirit is looking for hope.  Not trite answers. Not "God has a plan..." not simple hope-

My spirit is trying to look into the hopelessness and the loss and take my empty hands to reach in and find hope.   I am not there yet.  Or maybe it's just that hope doesn't feel quite as much like joy as I thought.


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