Advent is Preparing Room in a New Day for An Old Story

The bugle of a lone elk drives me from the comfort of my afghan-cocooned existence on the couch in our cabin in northern Arizona. Coming up from the frozen lake beyond the cliff edge, the call repeats deep and low, ending in a higher pitch of urgency. A pair of owls joins the chorus under the light of a waning crescent moon as I step out on the back deck.

Still in my winter jammies, I am not inclined to go investigate any further, but am content to listen while I wait for the ending of darkness and the arrival of morning light.

In the northern hemisphere, Christmas lands in the season of darkest nights. The calendar might say December, but in my mind, I think Advent, the time for preparation. As a child, our Christmas tradition included lighting candles on an advent wreath, the flickering flame illuminating the table while our family shared an evening meal. I’m sure Mom and Dad had hoped it would be a time for memories and religious instruction, but more often than not, my three siblings and I argued over whose turn it was to light the candles in the age-old language of children seeking to be noticed in a life-is-not-fair-to-me world.

Light shining in darkness. The people in Christ’s time needed it. My siblings and I needed it. I still need it.

In her book, Roots and Sky, author Christie Purifoy writes, “During Advent, we prepare room in a new day for an old story. Through our attentive waiting, we participate in the story of the season and make it new again.”

This hope of newness is one reason I order a devotional book each Advent as I prepare my heart for His coming. I join a dark world that stands in anticipation of the light.

In Luke 1:78-79, a prophesy was spoken about Christ, describing Him as the dawn who comes “to shine on those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace.”

As I stand on the snow-encrusted porch on a twenty-four-degree morning, I find my eyes drawn to the east. The elk and owls fall silent as I join the rest of creation in waiting. I whisper a prayer for peace as a ribbon of orange light stains the distant horizon.

The dawn has come.

This post originally appeared in the SanTan Sun News.