In the Event of Advent

This is a perfect time of year both to give unto others and to level with yourself. What will you choose to do, and what will you choose not to do? Sure, Advent is about anticipation and preparation, but not necessarily decoration and trepidation. (I know, those two words do not often keep company together, but they definitely can.)

For me, and I suspect for many of us, the trick is to enjoy wholeheartedly much of what is swirling all around— the greening, the putting up of lights, the placing of crèches, the shopping, the cookie baking, the card sending, the placing of reindeer antlers on cars even — without feeling the need to measure up in any way. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to any of these activities; the truth is, I often wish I were more proficient at, or at least more timely with, many of them. Leaving out the antler envy, however.

This time around, I’m oddly taken with the completely free moments of splendor as they occur in the cold and clear December air and how these moments complement, in a certain way, all the glittering that’s going on indoors.

Sometimes it takes only a glance at something in Nature to remind us that beauty is readily available, peace ours if we truly seek it.

On a recent Saturday, I was just starting on my long list of essential things to do inside when I glanced out back and saw how the sun was hitting the trees by the pond in a way that made everything else seem less important. I took my dog and ran down there, and this was my reward.

Meanwhile, during the weekdays I have been fully enjoying the way a Catholic school, at least the particular one where I work, readies itself for Christmas. The decorations are really tastefully done, a mix of the clearly sacred and the more playful. You might round a corner and see a delightful display on a table…

It’s hard to know what to call this actually; a kind of mini-tree? If there’s any clear religious significance, I’m uncertain here. But it’s just such a pleasure to take in.

The crèche in the main entrance area has a kind of quiet solidity, a presence that says, “Whatever you’re doing, surely you can take a moment and pause here.” And then there’s this smaller sweet scene, just on a windowsill.

Almost always, an artificial tree does nothing to stir my soul. But somehow the one at school is completely satisfying. Maybe it’s the combination of the red bows and white lights, but it definitely has a kind of elegance.

At home, though, we go a much simpler route, and I’m grateful for that. I’ve learned through the years that the four candles of Advent are essential, and the wreath surrounding or holding them is preferable, but other items are really not needed. In fact, it’s a more a feeling of bareness—something like a field of snow – that depicts the way a soul makes room for what’s to come. Clutter of any kind only gets in the way.

Full disclosure: I recently discovered a store in Concord called “Amish Homestead” that I really like, and a few hand-crafted things from there will spruce up the way our family room looks when guests come soon. But they hardly even qualify as Advent décor.

The way I see it, no matter which holiday might be around the corner and how well put together– or not– my house might be, just by heading out for a run I’m apt to find treasures along any road or trail. For this, I say “Hallelujah!”