1) A coming into place, view or being; arrival: the advent of the holiday season
2) The coming of Christ into the world
3) The period beginning four Sundays before Christmas, observed in commemoration of the coming of Christ into the world
4) Second Coming
As we've tipped over into December, I know it could all be over sooner than the dust around me settles, and the last thing I want is to miss it. To miss these weeks filled with days and hours and minutes of moments for my eyes to see what - or Who - it is I truly hunger for. I need to sit myself down in this season of Advent and focus my eyes and heart beyond the blur. And to do this, I need more than good intentions. I need good practices.
For me, so often, the practice of writing leads my eyes where they need to go. So, this is what I will do, and I invite any to join with me if you find you're also in need of this intentionality. I will write, just a little bit each day, on a different word related to this theme of advent. I call it, simply, Words of Advent.
And this is where I begin, four days in (better late than never, right?). The word is interruption.
I'll be honest, I often bristle or groan at the thought of interruption. Just let me finish, steady the course, execute my plans, whatever. I'm a so-called free spirited, wherever-the-wind-blows sort of gal, with one rather large caveat: as long as the wind doesn't blow me somewhere far beyond my comfort zone. Oh, I like interruption, when it's saving me, or diverting my attention, from something less pleasant.
But what about when the interruption costs me something, at least in my perception - even something I hold dear? Like time or dreams, peace or health, happiness or accomplishment, rights or being right? What if the interruption asks more of me than I feel I can give?
I can tell you this, it's a lot harder to remain thankful for these interruptions. It's sometimes sludging-through-muck harder to see through to the pearl contained there. These interruptions call forth my weaknesses, my fledgling faith, my flimsy veneer of selflessness.
And doesn't this have everything to do with Advent? The coming of the Christ then - and now - interrupts my life with something infinitely better than what I have going on or any treasure I hold tightly to my chest. The question is, can I let go of what is against my chest this season - the things I cherish and the things that press my heart heavy - to receive the better gift?
I'm unable to receive until I let go. I won't let go if I refuse interruption. So letting go begins with releasing fear and inviting Christ to interrupt my heart this season.