Today's reading from Romans, is one of my favorite, because it so encapsulates the meaning of Advent, this time of preparation before we celebrate the birth of Christ.
Wake up, we are told.
And then later these poetic lines from Romans 13:12: "The night is far gone, the day is near."
It was drizzling again this morning, cloudier than yesterday so no rainbows, no beams of light sneaking through the gray. The osprey was at his perch and, for the first time, I was able to find someone to drag outside so they could see and testify to the osprey that stands at the watchtower.
There were so few surprises. The osprey was where he always was. The doves all scattered and chortled from the labyrinth as I walked closer. These tiny little nameless birds flitted from tree to tree. The squirrels chewed hungrily on pinecones.
But there behind the Memorial Garden was something I did not expect to see, not on December 1, and not after seeing nothing but a bare branch for the past few weeks. It's been cool and wet and there's been little sun and yet there it was, an unexpected bloom, a soft, fragile, hibiscus flower, wet from the rain and another one, right behind it, still closed, but filled with expectant life.
And so Advent begins with the unexpected, with the beautiful, with something that puts you to your knees and fills your eyes with tears.
I have spoken to this flower multiple times over the past hundred days and today was no different. I didn't care who heard me, who might wonder what the strange lady with the camera was doing, talking to a flower.
"Look at you," I said.
Wake up, we are told.
And then later these poetic lines from Romans 13:12: "The night is far gone, the day is near."
It was drizzling again this morning, cloudier than yesterday so no rainbows, no beams of light sneaking through the gray. The osprey was at his perch and, for the first time, I was able to find someone to drag outside so they could see and testify to the osprey that stands at the watchtower.
There were so few surprises. The osprey was where he always was. The doves all scattered and chortled from the labyrinth as I walked closer. These tiny little nameless birds flitted from tree to tree. The squirrels chewed hungrily on pinecones.
But there behind the Memorial Garden was something I did not expect to see, not on December 1, and not after seeing nothing but a bare branch for the past few weeks. It's been cool and wet and there's been little sun and yet there it was, an unexpected bloom, a soft, fragile, hibiscus flower, wet from the rain and another one, right behind it, still closed, but filled with expectant life.
And so Advent begins with the unexpected, with the beautiful, with something that puts you to your knees and fills your eyes with tears.
I have spoken to this flower multiple times over the past hundred days and today was no different. I didn't care who heard me, who might wonder what the strange lady with the camera was doing, talking to a flower.
"Look at you," I said.
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