Darkness and Light: Notes During Advent
by Molly J. Bredehoft
Week 1: Hope
Advent is a time of putting our lives in order, we learn at church. The first week is also about hope. It’s about dreaming. What is your hope for the future? The congregation is asked. What are your dreams?
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I read this quote: “It is the beautiful task of Advent to awaken in all of us memories of goodness and thus to open doors of hope.” Pope Benedict XVI
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Our first snow came today. A sign of a true change of season. But it did not arrive as expected. Rain fell first, then changed to large flakes. Before long, the pasture was covered. The kids, son age four and daughter age six, asked me why we were getting the rain, the snow. They soon came up with the answer that God knew we needed the rain. But they weren’t sure about the snow. It’s probably time, my daughter Caroline reasoned. Eventually, it warmed up and the snow disappeared, except on the mountains. There the evidence remained.
The next day we woke to cloud cover. The world we knew the night before was hidden. By the time we headed out the door to meet the school bus, the thick clouds moved away, as though they were a curtain, to reveal the mountain peaks, our backdrop, our horizon.
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Why do I dream? Why do any of us dream?
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As I drive to town, the contrast of the golden grass and the amber willows stands out against the blue mountains, a cool section of landscape intermingled with earth tones.
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When Caroline, my daughter, comes home from school, she likes to write stories and draw. It’s what she does to get away from the day, from life in kindergarten. She writes and writes, often wanting to use words she doesn’t know how to spell but understands how to use in the correct capacity.
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How does one put their life in order? How does one work to make their dreams come true? Really, these aren’t just questions of Advent. These are questions I ponder all the time.
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There are times when I compare my life to friends who live in town versus myself who lives in the country. My husband Ray is often gone with his job. When I come home from town I gather wood for a fire, do chores, make meals. I always lose time from driving, but would I have spent it more wisely if I lived in town?
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Ever since losing my mom in a vehicle accident, I have found it hard to hope, hard to dream. She didn’t see all of hers come true. I am not without hope, but the accident happened so fast, and she was gone so quickly. I did not have enough time with her.
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We have two horses. Cowboy and Boots. They are both old trail horses. Boots follows me like a dog, almost into the house, breaking the boundary between animal and human which says you are hundreds of pounds heavier than me. He must have realized he almost knocked me over as I was carrying an armload of wood over our icy step. I look into his eyes and realize, You only want companionship. Your promised meal at the same time each day.
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We took the pigs to the butcher this week, and I was sad to see them go. When we came home, and even now, I look over to their pen anticipating to see them out walking or lying under their shelter, eating and drinking. It’s funny how I even miss their noises, their grunts that say they are ok. They are missed, but I do look forward to a slow cooked pork roast.
Week Two: Peace
Over coffee during a kid-free moment, a friend, knowing I was struggling with challenges in life, shared The Serennity Prayer. At first I was not impressed. This prayer has become cliche with the overuse of the first line printed on cards, magnets, mugs, and anything else you can think of. So, when I saw that there was more to the prayer than that one line, “God grant me the serenity to…,”. I was surprised. This is the line that resonated with me: “Living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time’ accepting hardships as the pathway to peace…”
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Today, Ben realized that if he had ten fingers and ten toes: “Well, that would equal twenty, Mommy.” Pretty good thinking for a four-year-old.
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A snowy day at home, however, it warmed up, snow mostly melted, and I took off my coat while feeding the horses. Ben pushed his Tonka truck up the hill, and the snow stuck to the tires, making it difficult for him to push. His engine noises dropped a gear and then he scooted up the hill with more power.
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In the morning the moon is shadowed by the clouds. The kids say it looks creepy.
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My husband is home. We argue. We try to figure out our life. In the end, we are naked, and it satisfies enough to end our questions for a time. But they’ll be back again. In a cycle, he’ll be naked, I’ll be naked, but never really answer all of those same questions.
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Christmas lights are up on some of the country houses. Seeing their glow on the drive home brings to mind the Advent saying, “Out of darkness, we have light.”
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Boots hasn’t been doing well. His gusto for life is low. My husband called the vet. The vet mentions Boots’s age and runs his hands over his thick winter coat. He draws blood and tells us we’ll soon know if there are any medical issues to be concerned about.
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In the morning, I read this quote: “Advent is a time for telling the truth—the truth of our weariness and our anxiety, yes, but also the truth of the relentless generosity of God, which opens up futures that seem to be shut down.” Richard Floyd
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At mid-day, I drive along our snow packed road. A buck darts out in front of me. His massive, beautiful body takes me by surprise. He should not have been there, on our road, at that time of day.
Week Three: Joy
Another surprise: Grammie (my dad’s mother) sent me a picture of my mom’s family in the mail. I cried when I opened it. I had seen the photo before, circa early 1960s Christmas Day. It was not a staged family photo, but one that showed my grandma, mom, Aunt Ginny, great grandparents, and great uncles sitting by a Christmas tree opening presents, smiling, laughing. It is a peek into the lives of people I know, or knew, during a time foreign to me. My grandfather must have been the one with the camera. The only people that are still alive in the photo are my grandparents, and this fact blurs with the shiny ball ornaments, cat-eye glasses, and brocade chairs.
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There are no medical issues with Boots.
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We went for a ride in the mountains. Caroline was at school, so it was only Ray, Ben, and me. Ben and I rode Boots, and Ray rode Cowboy. The trail gradually climbed through the snow and trees. The horses’ breath increased as we moved through the quiet forest. Ben rode in front of me. We were all bundled up in coats, coveralls, hats and gloves, but as we wandered along the trail, I imagined I was wrapped in furs or a wool blanket moving to a new camp. On our ride, we saw a snowshoe hare, several moose, and lots of elk tracks. The trail followed a creek and the sound of the moving water plucked a clear tune for our winter exploration.
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I read: “Decrease what is greedy, what is frantic consumerism, for the increase of simple, life-giving sharing.” Walter Brueggeman
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After a windstorm of blowing snow, I loaded up the kids, and we headed into town. At my friend’s house, our kids played while we baked Christmas cookies. We listened to Christmas music, drank tea, and talked about our families, childhoods, and life in general, while batch after batch of cookies were pulled from the oven and decorated with red, white, and green frosting.
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We lost electricity last night when the kids were headed to bed. The darkness scared them, and I was a bit shaken. Why does this always happen when my husband is gone? We walked around and lit candles, and the kids asked questions, like “Why can’t we watch TV? Why are the car lights shining on the road? How come the cars didn’t lose electricity?”
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Thoughts on “Out of darkness we have light” interrupted by a kindergartner
giving light
being light
freedom
Our God with us
Christ has come to free us
Those living in darkness—
Caroline: Who is it that is living in darkness?
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Driving home, the snow blows, and the visibility is low. To lose control of my surroundings is a cause for panic.
Week 4: Love
My sister called and told me about Hallie. My little niece has had a health scare. She is just a baby. I cried. She is fine, but how scary to realize, again, how quickly things can change.
I am missing my mom much more this year, and my sister said she is, too. I wonder if I have stuffed too many feelings and now they are surfacing. I realize how scared I am of something bad happening to our family. Of losing someone else. At Advent service, we talk about not being afraid in life. But the change and pain that comes from losing someone is what I fear even more than my own death.
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I see Boots and I begin to realize that he is soon going to be gone from us. He looks bony and his poor body doesn’t even keep off the snow. My husband and I don't know what to do.
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Has my poetry voice left me? I wonder if it is because I’m too busy. My mind is filled with too many other things. How to find it? Right now, I feel like getting my garage and shed in order would be easier. More tangible.
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I call my grandma (my mom’s mom). She had recently spoken with my uncle and how he remembered her making popcorn balls and green chili on Christmas Day. She said she couldn’t remember this. What? I was shocked. She spent hours and hours each December making popcorn balls, cookies, and all kinds of treats for us to eat while we opened gifts and spent time together as a family. I asked her if she remembered how Pop Pop would walk by the fireplace and put more wood on the fire and cook us out of the room. This was also something she did not remember. What about the punch? It was a concoction of ginger ale and concentrated fruit juice that she made up and called Christmas Punch. “Yes,” she said with her laugh, “I remember that.”
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The magpies sit on Boots’ back, but not on Cowboy's. He seems a bit dismayed, his head and eyes droop. I wonder what I should do with him. Is it wrong to prolong their time on earth? A horse who has walked so many trails is now left to stand under the magpies.
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Today I decided my action for showing “light” to others: take a meal to a friend. She lives several miles from me. She wasn’t there, so I left the food, but it was still wonderful to drive towards the mountains. On my way back home, I saw a puppy running alongside the road. I couldn’t leave him, so I took him with me. When I reached cell service, I called the Sheriff’s Office. They told me to take him to a vet clinic. He was cute, and I did want to keep him. In five days, if no one claims him, someone could take him home, but, without providing much evidence, they were fairly certain they knew who he belonged to.
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December 23rd. My husband and kids are home. It snows, a soft and flakey Christmas snow. The 23rd was always the day that my family, when I was growing up, would celebrate Christmas. The 24th and 25th were spent with our extended families. My mom made it a special time for all of us, and this is what I think of as I watch the flakes out of the window and sit in the glow of lights.
There are still so many things I want to know, so many questions I want to ask her. So, I go ahead: “Was life ever hard for you? How did you get through it? How did you discern the truth from reality and the difference between the two?” I never got to ask you, and I try to find the answer. And then I know, you would have stared out the window, just like me, and savored each flake that fell. You would have looked around the room with joy for the people present. You would have kept this scene tucked away somewhere and conjured it up in moments when you needed it most.
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“By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” Luke 1:78-79
Photo by Chris Hamann Photography
BIO: Molly J. Bredehoft writes from her home in Laramie, Wyoming. She received her MFA in Creative Writing and Literary Arts from the University of Alaska-Anchorage. Her best days are spent exploring the outdoors with her husband, two kids, two horses, and two dogs.