I woke up Thanksgiving morning with a sore throat, which quickly turned into a cough, and I’ve been sniffling and wheezing ever since. (And for this, I got a flu shot?) I’m better, but taking a sick day to avoid infecting anyone in the office. I expect to be back at my desk Tuesday.
But this offers me a chance to appreciate what this sacred season is about, to step away from things and have a little peace and quiet even for just a day or so. Last week, I swapped e-mails with a like-minded blogger, and we talked about shutting down comments for a few days, to give everybody a break and to savor, for a bit, the sound of silence. I’m going to do that, and close comments until next Sunday. I’m thinking this brief break is a good opportunity to rest in that “garment of silence” — the first week of Advent, when the purple is still fresh and the one lone candle is burning on the Advent wreath.
That candle means so much: a solitary beacon of hope in the bleakest of times, a pinpoint of expectation, soon to be joined by others. The light will grow. Our joy will spread. O come, Emmanuel!
But for now that flame burns alone, in steadfast silence. It waits.
And so do we.