Small Signs of God - #1 Prayer

The devotional words from the first day of Advent replay in my mind:

"I keep expecting loud and impressive events to convince me and others of God's saving power....Our temptation is to be distracted by them....When I have no eyes for the small signs of God's presence.... I will always remain tempted to despair." (Henri J.M. Nouwen, Gracias! A Latin American Journal)

Loud and impressive events call our name - especially from the Thanksgiving holidays until we greet the New Year. This year of 2020 will certainly be different - and maybe in a good way. A quieter way. If we weren't in the midst of a pandemic just think of all the things we'd be doing -  concerts, home tours, light displays and parties. Celebrating at church with extra events, musicals, and services. Outings and shopping sprees before dawn ( I only did that once.) And we look around to see if we could just add one more "touch" to our already decorated homes.

We don't mean to be attracted to the "loud and impressive" but sadly we are. Several years ago, I returned from a visit to the largest private home in North America - the beautiful Biltmore Estate in North Carolina. Wowed by the decorations and number of Christmas trees, I came home convinced that I, too, should have something festive in every room. Maybe, I thought, I could just add a small touch to each room—a vase of evergreens in my own, the Christmas "Joy" pillow in one daughter's chair, the outgrown Nutcrackers guarding my son's dresser and a stuffed Frosty The Snowman snuggling on another child's bed. All small signs of the season I love. All small signs of this season of joy— anticipating and waiting for the celebration of Christ's arrival again this year.

But where, I ask, do we catch a whisper of God's presence? Where can we see a "small sign" of God each and every day?

Today it was a friend who asked me to pray with her. We sat by her fire and thanked and requested and praised—and wondered about the small  Christ child who grew up and changed eternity - and then changed us. Quiet and unimpressive to the world, he went quietly about the business of his life and we are the recipients of His wondrous love, having been given this gift of prayer for  daily conversations with the Holy One.

These small signs come to all of us. Do we have the eyes to see? The ears to hear?

 O Wondrous Love,

You come as a small child, helpless, defenseless, homeless... and yet your small hands flung the stars into space and cast planets into their orbits. You whisper my name and invite me to your presence.                 You came so that I might live. I want to stay close to where you are this Advent. Amen

Paper Lantern

 

Somewhere in the past, I wrote about celebration and sorrow - that they are never very far apart. As I look out my window at a perfectly ordered fall day it seems all is well. The birds relax at the feeder with no fear of the pesky squirrels.  A few gently floating leaves whisper of a coming seasonal change, but today the sky is blue and it feels like Indian Summer. Go look outside. Creation helps us  remember that every ordered day is a new cause for celebration - we have never seen this day before so we (should) open our eyes and celebrate the order and beauty of another 24-hour gift.

As we open this gift of one day, we hope for good things - safety, wellness, good news.

But we know full well we will  be asked to face difficult  and dark challenges.

Somewhere between celebration and sorrow, we find ourselves. 

And we must decide who we will be with both.  How are you doing with that?

In my last 24 hours, I received news of an uncle's death, waited for news from a medical procedure, learned of the death of a talented young man, and responded to a request for support for a person facing critical health issues.  Maybe your day has been similar.

Just a few days ago, I witnessed celebration and sorrow in a matter of hours. Participating with a group of church volunteers, we helped host a visitation day for men and their families. These men, called returning citizens, have almost completed their prison sentences and are soon to be released. They were allowed a few hours with their families to visit, play games, enjoy music and a meal together. The joy and celebration among these families was palpable. And then, time flew and the visit was over. Celebration quickly turned to sorrow as families clung to each other, knowing it would be a while longer before they could be a family again.

And so we  must decide who we will be in the midst of our sorrows as well as our joys. 

In the beautifully painful book, Prayer in the Night, Tish Harrison Warren writes about suffering. 

 "The people who I most respect are those who have suffered but did not numb their pain - who faced the darkness. In the process they have become beautifully weak, not tough as nails, not bitter or rigid, but men and women who bear vulnerability with joy and trust. They are almost luminescent, like a paper lantern, weak enough that light shines through."