Advent Light
Photo credit: Kayla Mravec. This photo was taken on a recent family trip to Jekyll Island, Ga. The way the evening sunlight illuminated the driftwood surrounding me resonates with my yearlong journey of remaining rooted in myself while reaching outward with hope.
It’s unbelievable that it’s Advent again already. How has a year gone by so quickly? As I look back with gratitude on my journey of healing and discovery this year, I feel inspired to enter into this new liturgical season and calendar year with renewed hope and light. I can’t wait for the connections, opportunities and creations that await.
Advent is the Christian liturgical season of preparation that precedes the Christmas holiday. It is marked by waiting and anticipation. The word advent means coming, and points toward the birth of Jesus at Christmas, and His second coming at the end times. While this association is a part of my spirituality still today, this year Advent is also more broadly reminding me to slow down and consider the relationship between darkness and light. I’ve been feeling invited to explore the many ways light is always with me in the present, and, how light is always reaching toward me, calling me forward in spite of and through seasons of transition and transformation.
One big learning for me this past year is how deeply interconnected we are with each other. It became clear early on that through authentic vulnerability, meaningful connection and empathy sprout. And, through truly listening to what makes my heart smile and leap with joy I will find my unique calling and message for the world. In my story, this looked like getting to know my cerebral palsy again. It meant leaning into the practices I have for caring for my body and quieting my mind so that I could hear my heart. It meant discovering other disabled writers, reading their stories and learning that I’m not alone. It meant being brave in conversations with trusted loved ones, and strangers sometimes, sharing the joys and struggles of navigating living with disability. Through each of these practices I found hope and love. I found my joy again, discovering that even in transition and grief there is light.
So this Advent I wait with a thankful, hopeful heart for what is to come. I breathe in the hope that is shaping me, even still, and I breathe out the light that is shining brightly within me as a reminder that we are each held, we are each loved and we are not alone.
A breath prayer for Advent:
Breathe in hope.
Breathe out light.
