This is usually the hard part, coming home after celebrating with whoever has been kind enough to adopt us this year. All the anticipating, soaking up the lights and decorations everywhere, feeling God insidiously seeping into every little corner this time of year, even here in aloof, cynical New England. Jello Biafra is probably more liturgical than me, but I think I am starting to get this Advent thing more and more every year. The waiting, the anticipation, the yearning for all of this to well and truly change me forever, is as intoxicating as it is agonising. I savour and dread it all at once. Now it's over. There's a bit of anxiety at the prospect of the battles that loom ahead to keep the fragile little flame lit just a bit longer.
I don't give a toss if I sound cliche. I have the rest of the year to be hard-edged and hopeless, and I don't really want it. I want this. All the time. This is good. My God, I wish I could keep it forever. One day I will, but the waiting sucks.
Except there's always next year. Win. Epic win. Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift. He has blessed us, every one. May you find that around the most unexpected corners.
