Advent

For nine months, I waited to meet him
and now he waits to meet me,
reaching out his reactionary arms,
his fingers splayed in the air
like he is ushering in life and breath.
His blue eyes search the world and land on me,
beseeching me to understand what he already knows:
I am yours and you are mine.
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"
Love me. I am meant to be.
The universe is, decidedly,
unfolding as it should.

A wise woman told me that
it is okay to feel broken and lost
right up to the point when you
don't. Let yourself be.
So as we both tentatively explore
this new world into which we've been born,
we rest in the just being.
You and me. Being. Waiting.
For now, that is enough.

As we wait, life goes on,
promising us nothing but
teaching us everything at once.
When are we ever not students;
you and me, we're growing together.
I've been learning a lot about grief,
that it is everywhere, following me
in a strangely comforting way
as if to remind me that
life can be beyond hard,
loss is random and universal,
we all are battling something.
It challenges us to be alone,
to break silently and privately
so that we can continue to project
beautiful lives and joyful hearts
to everyone around us
who is also hurting.
I find myself giving into the grief
in deserted mall parking lots
and the soft drink aisle at Kroger.
One trigger and the landscape around me blurs.
This grief surprises me.

And then it happens. It always does.
Grace battles back in the form of
an unexpected meal from a stranger,
an email from a mother one step ahead of me,
a note from a former cross country runner
who reminds me that when the trail feels long
and the legs feel weak, I must
k e e p
g  o  i  n  g  ,
f   r   i   e   n   d   .
Life comes full circle in this moment
and grace interrupts grief.
I'm starting to think that while
grief lingers,
grace lasts.

Life is HARD and unfair
and out. of. our. control.
(Ah, there it is again,
you darn one day at a time.)
But grace.
Grace is chosen and given.
It knows the loneliness of grief
and invites itself in to just be
until the ache abates and the darkness diminishes.
It offers words of comfort and communion,
shirking the public polish in favor of
vulnerable honesty and broken hearts
cracked open enough by experience
that there is room for you and for me,
you who patiently wait to be held and loved
and accepted for your perfection.
Yup, perfection. I mean it.
You are my gift this Christmas season.

Grief, Grace, Grant:
I used to think you might forever be related.
But as I meet your gaze and am reminded that
your life too is wild and precious and oh just beginning,
I wonder if way does indeed lead to way.
For now, let's just be, together,
and wait and watch for the miracles to unfold.