Advent is a habit of looking east, Perpetually expecting to see The most and least likely arrival— The sun peeking from beneath a cloud bank, The sense of hope percolating within, The sure, steady, coming of life to life, A baby, a king, a world made new. There is nothing weak about longing. Staying alive, staying awake, is work, Flexing every sinew of your soul. Look up. Look east. Your joy is dawning, A holy, solid promise of fixed love.
Comments
No posts