The Fourth Day of Advent
Transplant Day Twenty-three
December 4, 2019
IN DECEMBER DARKNESS
The whole world waits in December darkness
for a glimpse of the Light of God.
Even those who snarl “Humbug!”
and chase away the carolers
have been looking toward the skies.
The one who declared he never would forgive
and those who left home
and even wars are halted,
as the whole world looks starward.
In the December darkness
we peer from our windows
watching for an angel with rainbow wings
to announce the Hope of the World.
— Ann Weems
In this season of my life, it would be easy to snarl “Humbug!” and move on to ordinary, tedious, plodding daily living. It’s hard to look starward when pain is your nightly companion, sticking much too close in the darkness of night, the darkness of life. My words this morning are not Advent-inspired words. They are, pure and simple, a factual and real assessment of where I find myself. My most pressing question? How do I get from “Humbug!” to Hope?
It will require an extra measure of faith, patience and perseverance. It will require my willingness to welcome a new normal. It may call for a little extra weeping, a bit more courage, a wide-open soul and maybe even a few angels to illuminate the way ahead.
To be honest, I have to say that on top of my physical pain is my incessant emotional pain that whispers, “You are not okay!” over and over and over again. I know this is not very Advent-like. This view of my current health and well-being is most definitely not Advent-like. But instead of my constant post- transplant complaints and consternations, I want to look for the star in the night sky. I want to listen for the hope-filled sound of the heavenly host singing “Alleluia!” I want to be standing in awe of angels with rainbow wings.
All of this descriptive information is about my current emotional/physical/spiritual space. I know that I don’t want to stay here in this dark place. I know it’s a temporary, necessary time of moving into healing and wholeness. Still, it often feels like darkness. Much more like “Humbug!” than Hope!
So from this dark place, I will myself to look starward, even briefly. I will see past the December darkness. I plan to peer out of my transplant-veiled windows, watching for an angel with rainbow wings announcing the Hope of the World!
May Spirit make it so.
2 thoughts on ““Humbug!” and Hope!”
As sweet Kathy that angel with rainbow wings is flying towards you even now. The real storm is over and only small rain drops continue, but they will stop. So many are praying for your comfort and healing. I also pray for the angel who gave you his kidney and wonder how his recovery is going. So many questions about that person and his/her family. Could I have given a part of myself had I known of your need so many years ago? What are your needs today? Are you and Fred living in a designated area of the hospital? Apartment in town? Meals furnished or cooking needed to be done? How is Fred ? You tell of “ your team “ checking on you. Do you have to go to the hospital or lab each day? Is there still a need to give through Mayo for your expensive? Or to you and Fred personally ?
Praying for a better today and tonight , with hugs and love to both you and Fred
Wings are meant for bending low, coming close. that is my prayer for you today.