I have been wrestling this year (and several before it, really) with finding anchors for hope in a world, a life, a reality in which it feels illogical and unwise to continue hoping. Much of the journey of healing and unbecoming who I had to be just to survive has been freeing and has released tensions in my life. But the difficulty of holding onto hope as the bondage releases seems to have only increased. 

As Advent brings it to focus, I see more clearly that the untethering from beliefs that are twisted to fit an earthly narrative is a necessary process. However, it is incomplete without intentionally reconnecting who I am finding myself to be deep within, who I was created to be, to the greater truths that have always existed. 

In an attempt to dive headlong into the longstanding tradition of Advent this year, I woke this morning and began with some reading instead of moving straight into emails and life. The two things I am planning to follow are “Honest Advent” by Scott Erickson and Ben Cremer’s “Arrival.” Just in a day’s worth of this process, these two authors have very much brought a new, and revealing, perspective to the season. 

Arrival finally has shed some light on the diminishment of hope in a practically visible way and has reminded me of the truth that I pass on to others but have not done well to be intentional about in my own life. Ben writes, 

“The hope candle was always the first to be lit during Advent and therefore was the shortest candle by the end of Advent. I always found it to be such a powerful metaphor of our hope. How so often in life, hope is what burns the longest. How so often, it feels like we are burned down to the end of our hope, where we barely have any hope left at all. Yet there is still a flicker of light to be seen.” 

This speaks to the heart of what I’ve been feeling as life and ties are melting away. Whether through active choices or just the passive passing of time, hope that there is something better coming seems in shorter supply. I often remind others to look to the stars on a dark night and remember that hope can be found like those pinpoints of light… but I have forgotten to be as intentional in my own recognition of it. 

Scott’s writing about hope similarly reminded me of what I know while challenging me forward. 

“Our invitation to Advent starts here, now—and thank God, because being here now feels really complicated. And hard. And sad at times. With a lot of loss. Right? It hasn’t been that long since we all lost a normal way of life.  

Some of us are still recovering what we lost. But what gives me hope in this Advent season is the reminder that everything can be taken away except that hidden part of me. Whether I lose my savings, my house, my title, or my very livelihood, what is un-takeable is the part of me that Jesus illuminates.”

Even as the melting has continued in the last week, as relationships, traditions, and connections have shifted and faded… as the hard, sad reality has become clearer, the truth that the flame burns just as bright remains. The fire that burns deep within will not consume who I am. Rather, it is continually revealing what is really me being me and what has been me doing what I was told. 

It is less wax and more light… which may seem like a scary thing, but I think it may not be. Because the world needs more light and warmth, not another doer elevated so far above the crowd that the flickering hope light isn’t even visible. 

Reading these two authors took me back to my childhood. In a tradition that largely disallowed magic out of fear, we read and reread C.S. Lewis. I still am not clear why this was allowable, but I am so thankful it was. Over and over, there were new things to be discovered in the stretching of my young mind that Lewis' writings allowed. And as I read and considered today, a quote from one of those books came to mind. 

“It means,” said Aslan, “that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward.” The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

I learned tradition. I learned scripture. I learned reason. I learned experience. These were the “Deep Magic” that was acceptable. They were palatable. 

The journey beyond what I learned, beyond what was handed down is in the revealing of myself and the knowing of truth that was before time and will continue after time. It is in the knowing that the table was broken, and now, even when hope seems very low… the flame burns just as brightly, casting its light on the deeper work that is happening, and creating a beacon that was never meant to remain elevated above humanity. 

Hope is accessible. Hope comes down to meet us where we are. Hope is visible. Hope is here. 

Happy advent, friends. I pray that you can see hope today… no matter how dark it may be around you, know you are loved. Know you are not alone.

May you rest in the peace that the darkness can never extinguish the light that has been given you. - S. Erickson

I love you. 

💜💜💜