Today I feel softened by coronavirus time. What a strange thing to feel! For most of this year, March through November, I have felt quite the opposite. I felt hardened. Fear, frustration, anxiety, depression tore at my heart. I found myself hunkering down, stifled, and resistant.
Amidst all the uncertainty my vision shrank. I was little interested in change or the new or anything I could not somewhat control. Though a by-product of my stubbornness more than anything else, willfulness helped me keep going. I did my best to show up in my prayer chair, hold on to faith, and keep my desire for God and good burning within and through the days.
Mindful of my breath, I breathed deeply and imagined myself and all that was happening being held in Love’s embrace. Let go. Surrender into the peril in mysterious trust. Through all the losses, look for the new wanting to be loved into existence within me and you and the wider universe of creation.
Nine months later, I am realizing I have changed. Perhaps it is sheer exhaustion or freefall from all the grief, but I know it is something more. I am remembering the smiles and laughter that continued to be there over these months, even coming from me. I am recalling abundant compassion and resilience displayed by so many people. Again and again, I read stories or know family and friends or perfect strangers, and very often children, who saw a need and simply stepped in to provide help. All the while, the earth turned, the wonder of its seasons was on display, and the sun did rise and set day after day.
I have been growing in the dark. A gentle willingness is replacing clenched willfulness. I better sense the light within and am seeing it more all around. In this Sunday’s gospel, John in the wilderness is testifying to the light.* He is clear that it is not about him; he is simply here to point to the light. Though the light is among us, he says, we do not know it.
Perhaps all the little ways we have mustered to love this year have prepared us more to see and receive the gift of the newborn child of light. Christmas is always coming.
-Trish Stefanik, Overlook Retreat House at Dayspring
For reflection:
- How are you preparing your heart for Christmas?
- Is there something new that God might be inviting you to carry, give away, share?
- Who do you know who testifies to the light? How might you?
