I look at the lights on our tree and wonder if there was a send-off party before He came here. Were lights strung on trees there? And ribbons wrapped around gifts for Him in honor of the Gift He would give to us?
I wonder if He met with Moses, debated with Deborah, discussed depression with David or Job. I wonder if there were long walks with the Father beside bright glistening waters, pondering as they prayed for all here on earth.
Was there one final meal? Roasted meats, bowls of spiced fruits, fine wine? Did He simply disappear to appear in the dark of a young woman’s womb? Or with Gabriel through heavens, through galaxies, bursts of flames, shooting stars did he travel? To arrive—planted seed—while the world lay unknowing, unseeing.
Born of light, He brought light. Into our night, and will come again.
Now candles are lit, flames of hope for the lonely, lit for the tempted, the lost and the broken, sad and depressed, or mildly contented. We stand beneath lights on our trees, and in front of our wreaths on the doors where He knocks and listens. He waits. Do we hear?
He once walked here in sandals, betrayed and rejected, is acquainted with all that we carry and bear. He sees. He’s the Host of Advent who protects and provides, anoints, with abundance He blesses. Repentance is met with grace.
So sing songs of joy. He comes for a reason, new life—to plant love within us. A path lies before us, lit bright with hope —lefrom wandering to wonder.
Photo: Max Goog, Unsplash