Yesterday was the day after one of the darkest days most of us have faced as a people. As a nation. I woke with the fleeting realization that the world didn’t dissolve overnight, and I mentioned that as an off the cuff remark to my husband as I said hello. Much of the day was spent reading and talking and thinking through the events of Wednesday afternoon, trying to piece it all together and understand. And at the end of the day, I retired with a sadness for our country that I haven’t felt until now. Once again coming to terms with the fact that all we’ve held to be true of America, of Americans, could be destroyed from within. The renewed understanding that what we hold to be the reality of living in a democratic, free society, is tenuous, and it depends greatly upon us. Me. The people who live here. Yes, the sun rose and the sun set. The Lord upheld the universe by the word of his power, as he has done and will do until his return. But some days are more weighty than others and yesterday was that day.
Several years ago when our finances were less abundant than my time, I made an advent wreath of sorts for our family. It’s more of a basket than a traditional wreath and certainly nothing fancy as you can see. And the candles need replacing once again. It’s been sitting in a bin, packed away in the closet under the stairs, along with so many other Christmas memories from over the years. But this year it sits on our table once again. This year it seems appropriate to remember past seasons as we enter one anew. To wait. To hope. To look forward to something we’ve expected, longed for, desired for so long.
I was 9 then, the year of grade four. I had a best friend who lived up the street until a new girl moved into the neighborhood. She was vivacious and outgoing, full of fun and mischief, all the things I was not. And for whatever reason causes nine year olds to set their sights on things, she wanted to be best friends with my best friend. So I lost. But I didn’t just lose. I was thenceforth reminded how much I lost. I was given notes in class about how much they hated me. How ugly I was. How dumb. Friends who previously asked me to hang out at recess wanted nothing to do with me. I was humiliated on the bus by their friends who enjoyed taunting little girls. And on one particularly ugly day, I was followed off the bus by a mob of elementary schoolers who wanted to pummel me to the ground. My older brother, who didn’t much like me himself, came to my rescue that day. Flattening the new girl with one swift push, landing her butt on the pavement. I don’t think I ever loved him more.
