I’ve been putting off sitting down to write this week’s post for several days now. For a while, I had some legitimate excuses—writing recommendations for seniors, Creole lessons in the evenings, talking to family on Skype, studying for the big Creole test on Friday, hanging out with Robbie, just plain old being tired, the list goes on. Now, there’s no excuse. Sunday afternoon—the work is done, the Creole can wait, no one is on Skype, Robbie is busy grading finals. But still, my muse seems to elude me.
It’s not for lack of ideas. I’ve been reflecting on Gabriel’s message to Mary. The utter shock of it. Can you imagine? A 13 year old girl, probably doing what most young girls do around the world—chores. Helping Mama, maybe making dinner, cleaning up after a younger sibling, or carrying in a bucket of water. Daydreaming along the way, she was probably in the middle of one of those little jobs that she had slowly accumulated, year after year. Just like every day.
And then, an angel appeared. “Greetings you who are highly favored, the Lord is with you.” The scriptures tell us she “was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be.” Talk about an understatement. Reading this passage this week, the absolute surprise of this angel’s burst into Mary’s reality struck me like it never had before. Because, unlike Mary, I’ve heard the story a thousand times. I knew the angel was coming. I knew what he would say. And I knew that Mary’s response will be “yes.” But Mary hadn’t heard the story yet. It hadn’t entered her mind. It wasn’t even a possibility. She was just helping Mama.
As I thought about writing the blog, I had these plans to tie this passage into my own life, our own lives. The utter surprise of God’s invitation to us. The shock that he would invite us, even us, into his work, and somehow depend on our “yes.” And that it’s only when the story has been told a thousand times that it starts to make sense. It becomes familiar. And then, we see how it’s part of a larger story that had started much earlier than we realized. It had been foretold. We see intonations of it in our memories, our childhood dreams, the blessings that have been spoken over us by others. We see it just like Mary started to see the fulfillment of the words of the prophets, just as the angel had spoken—that God will send a son, who will establish his kingdom and reign forever. Only after we turn in over and over and the surprise wears off, does it become a part of the bigger story, the best story.
It’s not for lack of ideas. I’ve been reflecting on Gabriel’s message to Mary. The utter shock of it. Can you imagine? A 13 year old girl, probably doing what most young girls do around the world—chores. Helping Mama, maybe making dinner, cleaning up after a younger sibling, or carrying in a bucket of water. Daydreaming along the way, she was probably in the middle of one of those little jobs that she had slowly accumulated, year after year. Just like every day.
And then, an angel appeared. “Greetings you who are highly favored, the Lord is with you.” The scriptures tell us she “was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be.” Talk about an understatement. Reading this passage this week, the absolute surprise of this angel’s burst into Mary’s reality struck me like it never had before. Because, unlike Mary, I’ve heard the story a thousand times. I knew the angel was coming. I knew what he would say. And I knew that Mary’s response will be “yes.” But Mary hadn’t heard the story yet. It hadn’t entered her mind. It wasn’t even a possibility. She was just helping Mama.
As I thought about writing the blog, I had these plans to tie this passage into my own life, our own lives. The utter surprise of God’s invitation to us. The shock that he would invite us, even us, into his work, and somehow depend on our “yes.” And that it’s only when the story has been told a thousand times that it starts to make sense. It becomes familiar. And then, we see how it’s part of a larger story that had started much earlier than we realized. It had been foretold. We see intonations of it in our memories, our childhood dreams, the blessings that have been spoken over us by others. We see it just like Mary started to see the fulfillment of the words of the prophets, just as the angel had spoken—that God will send a son, who will establish his kingdom and reign forever. Only after we turn in over and over and the surprise wears off, does it become a part of the bigger story, the best story.
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| Photo taken by Adele Collins, my amazing sister, back when we left in the summer. |
But I can’t write that blog now. I can’t get myself to slow down or focus long enough for it to flow and make sense. It doesn’t all come together quite like I want it to. And I know why. It’s that I am just so excited. Because on Thursday (si Dye vle), we get to go home. We get to get on a plane and fly towards a whole family that will be waiting at the airport, and other dear friends we'll get to see a day or two later. And we’ll get to embrace them and feel their embrace. And see the precious faces of our nieces and baby nephew who’ve all grown so much and let them see ours. And spend time eating together and talking and laughing and sharing stories. And get to hear all of what the other person is saying without the snags and cut-offs of Skype. We’ll get to be present to one another. We’ll get to inhabit the same time and space and fill it with love. We’ll get to soak in the wonder of being incarnate to one another.
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| Photo by Adele Collins |
And I just can’t wait. I’m bubbling around the house packing up our carry-ons with presents and the few pieces of winter-appropriate clothing I can find. I’m filled with daydreams and anticipation to the point of occasional tears. Robbie just looked up from his grading—“you’re pretty excited, aren’t you?” Talk about another understatement. So, please forgive me that I can’t write much of an Advent blog. I’m just too excited about Christmas.
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| Photo above by Adele Collins |
Missing you guys! Look forward to seeing you in Haiti xo
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