In the dark, under the ground, & behind the scenes
(some thoughts on the first week of Advent)
As you may have recently seen, the story of my family’s attempt to find a house of our own was featured in The New York Times last week.
This, of course, did not come as a surprise to any of us. I answered a call for stories about having recently moved. “The Hunt” picked up the story, and within weeks, we welcomed a reporter and a photographer through the front door. We pulled our sons out of school a couple hours early, because when else does an opportunity like this come along?
In the meantime, we cleaned the house like mad, like, really, really cleaned it (and then kept it really, really clean for another week and a half). I tried to dig all the crab grass out of the front yard, but just ended up covering it with fallen maple leaves in the end. My older son set up his LEGO creations just so, because “What if the photographer takes a picture of my LEGOS and I become famous?”
But mostly, we spent a lot of time remembering.
If you read my post, “Shaken Up,” two weeks ago, you may recall that part of why I opened with a story of moving was because when we feel shaken up by grief, sometimes it helps to remember those times of stillness. Those times when sparks of hope and glimmers of light still wriggle their way in.
But God, when you’re in the middle of it, you’re in the middle of it.
You can’t remember stillness for the life of you. And when it comes light, it’s like you’re stuck in the middle of a pitch-black cave with a skin-tight bandana tied around your eyeballs for good measure.
You’re just in it. And when you’re in it, there’s no other way but thru the messy middle.
I remember how helpless I felt: the pandemic had not been kind on this freelance writer’s career. I started applying for jobs, any jobs; back in the classroom, at tech companies, in publishing houses. Left and right, I sent out resumes for anything that might ease the financial burden on my husband’s shoulders. And I remember how hopeless and broken both of us felt at times too: what had we been thinking, moving back to one of the most expensive areas in the country? In the despair of the unknown, we began to prepare our boys to move, again, this time to a place far away from all of their friends. Kids are resilient, that much I knew, but I didn’t know if they could handle another move without breaking.
A breaking, from the stress of moving, had happened to one of our sons before. I’d do anything to prevent this from happening again.
We lived this cycle of helplessness, brokenness, and despair for several months straight, this part alone a small part of the year ahead.
Yes, sparks of light and glimmers of hope showed up along the way. But when we were in it, we were in it.
Is it not so different from the season of Advent we find ourselves in now?
Advent is a season of waiting and hoping. It’s a season of expectation, of what could be, even if it isn’t quite realized or come to fruition yet. My friend Justin writes that this process itself never ends, because “the waiting never ends.” The primary fruit of waiting, he muses, is about formation and becoming; it’s not then about getting what we want.
Maybe, Advent is about what’s happening in the dark and under the ground and behind the scenes that we can’t always see in the moment.
It’s about looking to what’s ahead, even if we can’t see two steps in front of us.
And it’s about clinging to that day of peace that dimly shines, far away as it may seem.
O day of peace that dimly shines
through all our hopes and prayers and dreams,
guide us to justice, truth, and love,
delivered from our selfish schemes.
May swords of hate fall from our hands,
our hearts from envy find release,
till by God’s grace our warring world
shall see Christ’s promised reign of peace.
A couple of housekeeping notes:
Today is #GivingTuesday. Give generously! Three of my favorites are The Simple Way, Immigrant Hope Atlanta, and Grove Park Foundation.
It’s not too late to sign up for All the Holiday Feels: A Writing Workshop, led by
and me. Link to sign up is here, and email me directly for sliding scale information. I do hope you'll join us!Fine, fine, fine, let’s show my son’s LEGO creations some love. Supreme filter all his:
Looooooved the article about your fam, looooove the LEGOS, and soooooooo excited about the writing workshop!! 🥰🥰🥰