Lindy Thompson

I am rattled this Advent.
I keep having to take deep breaths.
My insides twist up with worry,
and I pray, and breathe, and look out the window.

I worry about people I love.
I want to throw myself in front of the metaphorical train
that seems to be coming for my dear, open-hearted beloveds,
using my boring ordinary privileged voice
to speak for them,
protect them,
make the world see them as I do.

I implore God in panic,
I wave off God in anger and frustration.
I scramble for footing,
reach for the writings of the saints,
center myself,
begin again.

***

I teach Sunday School.
I do it because I love it and I do it because they need me.
In that order.
Sitting at home with my coffee on Sunday morning,
I consistently wish I weren’t teaching that day,
then when I am in the small chair
at the short table,
casting about for words to explain what trusting God is like
or what Advent is for,
my spirit sparks and I silently fuss at my lazy Sunday self
because I know I am where I need to be.

Yesterday, post-Thanksgiving holiday,
we only had two students.
And in our over-carbohydrated brain fog,
the other teacher and I forgot to look in the folder
so we winged the whole lesson.
Thinking about the idea of hope, and of waiting,
we asked them to read aloud Luke 1: 26-38,
the birth of Jesus foretold.
The part where Gabriel visits young Mary
and she agrees to carry the Christ Child.

***

Do you know in “A Charlie Brown Christmas,”
how amidst the mess and fuss and wrong directions,
the world comes to an absolute halt
when Linus stands on the stage,
says lights please,
and begins And there were in the same country shepherds … ?
It does not matter how many times I see it,
or how many years I don’t bother –
when Linus begins to speak,
my heart stops,
my soul stands to attention,
because I am hearing truth
delivered by a little child,
and it is a moment for removing shoes
because that ground is holy.

Yesterday when the two little girls in Sunday School
read in their clear, child voices
about the angel and the young woman and the impossible,
it was a bell
ringing through the fuss and the mess and the wrong directions.
It was the dawning of Advent,
a blessing on the waiting,
a strengthening for the work ahead.

It was the vulnerable and the majestic,
the earthy and the celestial,
God enfleshed and with us,
the indwelling Spirit in humble, stumbling hearts.

There is truth,
and there are children,
and there are needs all around us,
and God gives us strength to do the work.
We can give,
and we can receive.
It is okay to rest,
not okay to give up.

God bless the little children,
and God bless the threatened beloveds,
and God bless the ordinarys
who would rather stay home but don’t.
The Gift is among us,
given freely.
May we have ears to hear,
hearts to receive,
and courage to act
when the time for waiting
ends.