When the Lord recovered the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream.
Then our lip was filled with laughter, and our tongue with roars of hilarity ;P TAGEND
Then it was said among the nations,” The Lord has done great things for them .”
The Lord has done great things for us, and we rejoiced.
Restore our fates, O Lord, like the watercourses of the Negev.
May those who sow in tears reap with wails of joy.
Those who go out moaning, bearing the seed for sowing,
Shall come home with shouts of joyfulnes, carrying their sheaves. -Psalm 126
It’s a hard time of year for many of us. The darkness of short epoches seems not just a happening of mood but a allegory for feelings of loneliness and loss. We dwell upon the wish for sun as some of us rise before the sunlight and return home after the subside into night again, so the sunlight sidesteps us like a debtor but darkness lingers like an unwanted visitor. This time of year is a time of darkness, and we dream of a glorious return of spring with its promise of so many possibilities.
It is the third week of Advent, and we wait upon the point of a remember of new life that was and is and ever shall be.
We know our waiting holds forth the promise of life for the barren subjects and the promise of love for our barren centres, as the Lord of Love Himself asks us to make straight the action in the wilderness of all our willfulness and selfishness and pettiness. If simply we earmark ourselves to remember, we could know that the snow and frost of wintertime will de-escalate to leaf and bloom. If we “lets get going” of the chill that occupies our middles as we feel so lost and alone in the darkness, we know that He is coming indeed just when we need him the most.
Our centres become like the watercourses of the Negev–hardened arroyos in a dry land, and when suddenly the rain does come, the ground has not ability to absorb it. Ground becomes not sponge but basin, filled to overflowing–holding enough that the estate can bloom even in a desert. Instead of fading below-ground, the rain cascades down those arroyos, going from emptiness to abundance in the blink of an instant. And for weeks the irrigate can be used to bring forth cultivates in the barren places.
We long to be like those who dream, who trust that when the Morning star rises we will again remember the euphorium that merely “ve been waiting for” us to open our hearts and let it reign over us. We will awaken after our long nighttime into the Light given to us through the charm and enjoy of God. God be praised, our waiting is almost fulfilled. Alleluia!
The Rev. Leslie Scoopmire is a writer, musician, and a pastor in the Diocese of Missouri. She is rector of St. Martin’s Episcopal Church in Ellisville, MO. She affixes daily petitions, musings, and exhortations at her blog Abiding In Hope, and accumulates spiritual writings and likeness at Poems, Psalms, and Prayers.
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