Advent 2018

Advent’s waiting…

It’s the second Sunday of Advent as I sit quietly waiting for the sun to slowly bring light to morning darkness. I think of him. The oldest son in Arkansas standing somewhere in the wet timber waiting.

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I remember one Thanksgiving when the kids were playing football in the yard. My cousin’s youngest came to tell me there’d been an accident. I left the turkey on the counter to find my son sitting quietly on his bed holding his broken arm. He didn’t shed a tear over the pain, not one drop during the setting or casting. As we drove home I turned to see rivers falling down his face. “Are you hurting son? Are you ok?” He held up the cast as his baby blues overflowed, “How am I going to hunt with this?” I should have known then my fifth grader was bitten by the hunting bug. And yes, his father gently wrapped that cast in plastic wrap the next morning and they hunted. We smiled at the brave way he used his broken arm to balance the gun.

One fall I watched him walk to the truck, duck call in his mouth and wondered what in the world he was doing. Each day as he drove to school and back he practiced. He worked hard learning to make a wooden tube with its reed sound just like a duck. Hour upon hour of practice to perfect a skill only hunters and mommas appreciate.

As darkness slowly gives way to light I know he’s out there dropping decoys and making his way to the perfect spot. He’ll stand like a statue with black streaks of burned cork under his eyes all dressed in camouflage. It’s freezing, but he’ll not tremble nor will his teeth chatter. Straining to hear, heart thumping, duck call ready to sing, he waits.

 

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This is Advent’s waiting…

It’s the river of tears flowing over fear I might miss it.

The practice of learning the sound of His call.

It’s the clothing of myself to look more like Him,

And the preparation of a heart to embrace new birth.

This is Advent’s waiting…

Standing statue still all ears listening, eyes toward heaven’s Light dawning.

Waiting… watching… hoping….

Silently calling, “O come, O come Emmanuel.”

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