" Advent, the whole season, like a great lung.... to understand, to really know with the whole of myself, how it is we can breathe ourselves out during Christmastide and pause, refusing then to draw our own stale selves back in,.."
Thank you for this picture Tyler! I I know I will be thinking about it more! What an invitation! It feels hopeful.
Snow -quiet is one of the things that refreshes me too...both the 'snow eats sound' part and the way it covers and smooths everything. I am looking out my window now and that is such a welcome rest for my eyes and the eyes of my mind.
Your amazing words were like sneaking open a Christmas gift early, Tyler. I have lived in the South now for ten years. While I don't miss the hassle of the ice and Chicago's bitter cold winds, I long for that heavy blanket of silence that a winter's night of snow brings, and awakening to a fresh covering of quiet and peace that could be felt. No matter what the day held from that moment on, God gave me a palpable calmness, intense and tangible, that touched me so gently. Silence is no indicator of absence. But the thick stillness of the snow reminds me of His embrace, even now the very thought of it. Jesus does not just show up. He whispers in the storms, "I'm already here."
Love the thoughts, Karen. Thanks for sharing. "Silence is no indicator of absence.“ This packs a punch all its own, and reminds me I‘m seen even when I have nothing to say. Thanks for that.
Hi Tyler, Malcolm does indeed offer the best kind of spiritual glasses with which to see the world 'charged with the grandeur of God.' Agreed.
Where have I seen it? I've noticed it, in my occasional pauses, by glancing at the barren, spindly trees outside the glass of my back door--how they spear themselves towards the sky. Why do trees grow up? I believe the answer lies in their Godward leaning, ever announcing to us the majesty of God if we'll but see it.
The Lord is come--and He is everywhere. Merry Christmas!
Beautifully said, Jody. You have me thinking upward to the trees’ "Godward leaning.“ I hope you‘ll write a poem starting with "Why do trees grow up“ and share it with us.
This: “…refusing then to draw our own stale selves back in, waiting instead for a wind not our own to reinhabit us.” I so needed to read that today. Thank you for writing it. Merry Christmas to you and your family, Tyler!
I’m with you as far as snow is concerned. I think one of my earliest memories may be aural—the crunch of snow beneath my mother’s boots as she carried me. And I think the first sense of transcendence I experienced as a child was lying in our snowy backyard looking up at the night sky. I remember the quiet. I try to recapture some of that in my Advent rhythm when I step outside. It’s hard to listen inside my own house. I’m not very good at turning my brain aside from so many distractions. But outside I can hear the whispers. And I’m finding the difference between indoors and outdoors even more striking these days. I think it has to do with disconnecting from the virtual world and reentering the charged creation.
I’m curious how you might carry this posture outside Advent as well. Sometimes I find the transition between the intense focus of Advent/Christmas and moving into more “ordinary” time a little rough.
Great and helpful reflections. Working remotely from the home office most of the time, I resonate with that need to "reenter the charged creation,“ as you said. It helps so much in keeping my head in the right place. This last Fall, 6pm became my favorite time to simply cross the street and check the mail, which I’d turn into a slow mosey under the wide autumn sky. Loved it.
I’m not great with the transition into "ordinary" time either, but even as I learn to be more attentive during Advent‘s waiting, I hope to see the practice turn to habit, and as Carys Walsh says, to see the waiting for turn into a waiting upon.
I keep coming back to your image of a great deep breath. I keep seeing it as an invitation that is offered every day... even every moment to 'wait for a wind not our own.... the sweeter inhale'. I believe the Spirit, the Breath of God is there for us. We need not suck in our own weak and stale past or failing self, because of urgency or sense of inevitability. Truly it's a resurrection we are offered every moment. The life breath of Christ. New...now... and... now.
" Advent, the whole season, like a great lung.... to understand, to really know with the whole of myself, how it is we can breathe ourselves out during Christmastide and pause, refusing then to draw our own stale selves back in,.."
Thank you for this picture Tyler! I I know I will be thinking about it more! What an invitation! It feels hopeful.
Snow -quiet is one of the things that refreshes me too...both the 'snow eats sound' part and the way it covers and smooths everything. I am looking out my window now and that is such a welcome rest for my eyes and the eyes of my mind.
With you 100% on that
I love the idea of advent as a seasonal exhale. This is great stuff, Tyler!
Thanks for that!
Your amazing words were like sneaking open a Christmas gift early, Tyler. I have lived in the South now for ten years. While I don't miss the hassle of the ice and Chicago's bitter cold winds, I long for that heavy blanket of silence that a winter's night of snow brings, and awakening to a fresh covering of quiet and peace that could be felt. No matter what the day held from that moment on, God gave me a palpable calmness, intense and tangible, that touched me so gently. Silence is no indicator of absence. But the thick stillness of the snow reminds me of His embrace, even now the very thought of it. Jesus does not just show up. He whispers in the storms, "I'm already here."
Love the thoughts, Karen. Thanks for sharing. "Silence is no indicator of absence.“ This packs a punch all its own, and reminds me I‘m seen even when I have nothing to say. Thanks for that.
Hi Tyler, Malcolm does indeed offer the best kind of spiritual glasses with which to see the world 'charged with the grandeur of God.' Agreed.
Where have I seen it? I've noticed it, in my occasional pauses, by glancing at the barren, spindly trees outside the glass of my back door--how they spear themselves towards the sky. Why do trees grow up? I believe the answer lies in their Godward leaning, ever announcing to us the majesty of God if we'll but see it.
The Lord is come--and He is everywhere. Merry Christmas!
Beautifully said, Jody. You have me thinking upward to the trees’ "Godward leaning.“ I hope you‘ll write a poem starting with "Why do trees grow up“ and share it with us.
Merry Christmas!
Tyler, you've inspired me.... stay tuned for a poem in the new year. Thanks :-)
This: “…refusing then to draw our own stale selves back in, waiting instead for a wind not our own to reinhabit us.” I so needed to read that today. Thank you for writing it. Merry Christmas to you and your family, Tyler!
Thank you as much and more for reading. Merry Christmas to you and yours as well! Hoping you find it unexpectedly refreshing.
I’m with you as far as snow is concerned. I think one of my earliest memories may be aural—the crunch of snow beneath my mother’s boots as she carried me. And I think the first sense of transcendence I experienced as a child was lying in our snowy backyard looking up at the night sky. I remember the quiet. I try to recapture some of that in my Advent rhythm when I step outside. It’s hard to listen inside my own house. I’m not very good at turning my brain aside from so many distractions. But outside I can hear the whispers. And I’m finding the difference between indoors and outdoors even more striking these days. I think it has to do with disconnecting from the virtual world and reentering the charged creation.
I’m curious how you might carry this posture outside Advent as well. Sometimes I find the transition between the intense focus of Advent/Christmas and moving into more “ordinary” time a little rough.
Great and helpful reflections. Working remotely from the home office most of the time, I resonate with that need to "reenter the charged creation,“ as you said. It helps so much in keeping my head in the right place. This last Fall, 6pm became my favorite time to simply cross the street and check the mail, which I’d turn into a slow mosey under the wide autumn sky. Loved it.
I’m not great with the transition into "ordinary" time either, but even as I learn to be more attentive during Advent‘s waiting, I hope to see the practice turn to habit, and as Carys Walsh says, to see the waiting for turn into a waiting upon.
I keep coming back to your image of a great deep breath. I keep seeing it as an invitation that is offered every day... even every moment to 'wait for a wind not our own.... the sweeter inhale'. I believe the Spirit, the Breath of God is there for us. We need not suck in our own weak and stale past or failing self, because of urgency or sense of inevitability. Truly it's a resurrection we are offered every moment. The life breath of Christ. New...now... and... now.
Thank you for your words Tyler.
Sarah, your comment's brought me back to this after a couple breathless weeks and helped me to see it again. Thanks for that.