Tomorrow Advent begins, one of my favourite times of the liturgical year - there is something about short days and long, dark nights, damp dankness and the warming glow of lights on windows that always reaches my soul. 

The hint of a promise of snow (oh how I love snow, being born into a world of snow in the 1962/63 winter) and the reality of rain; the shops with ridiculous offers and deals aimed to lure customers inside to overspend on goods they neither need or desire; the delicious smells wafting from restaurant doors and the arrival of red paper cups in certain coffee shops we shall not name.  The delightfully gaudy street decorations and the excited shine in the eyes of children; the choirs rehearsing carols and children practising their lines for the latest variant on an old, familiar tale...

And amidst it all, the strangeness that is Advent - eschatology and incarnation all muddled up, penitence and celebration side by side... never quite sure what we are meant to contemplate but knowing that we should reflect on something.

Advent Sunday tomorrow

Advent calendars and challenges begin on Tuesday

As we pause on the brink of Advent, I wish all my readers the blessing of wonder and love as we journey onwards together.

The emergence of so-called Black Friday intrigues and dismays me in roughly equal measure.  The so-called deals are only possible because someone, somewhere loses out - whether that is the person on a zero-hours contract or seasonal-worker who gets paid peanuts, whether that is the supplier or the delivery company.  It sure as heck is not the huge multi-nationals who cash in on people's love of a bargain.

I had no plans to buy anything online today anyway, but I will be proactively choosing to spend any money I do spend in small, independent outlets, choosing, as appropriate, fairtrade, rainforest alliance or farm assured products for anything I do buy.

I gather that many independent book shops are having 'civilised Saturday' tomorrow when they will offer enhanced service to customers, which sounds a far better idea to me!!

And finally (for now anyway), dear old Dr Seuss....

THE WAITING PLACE 

by Dr. Seuss

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come,
or a plane to go or the mail to come,
or the rain to go or the phone to ring,
or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night

or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.

Everyone is just waiting.

And this poem, which it transpires I reproduced on this blog back in 2012!!

Waiting

Waiting, waiting, waiting,
For the party to begin;
Waiting, waiting, waiting,
For the laughter and the din;
Waiting, waiting, waiting,
With hair jut so,
And clothes trim and tidy,
From topknot to toe.
The floor is all shiny,
The lights are ablaze;
There are sweetmeats in plenty
And cakes beyond praise;
Oh! The games and the dancing,
The tricks and the toys,
The music and the madness,
The colour and the noise!
Waiting, waiting, waiting,
For the first knock on the door,
Was ever such waiting,
Such waiting before?

—James Reeves

Whilst researching stuff for this week's sermon (title as above) I came across this poem - which I won't be reading out (at least not in full) but offers one perspective on the concept of waiting...

Waiting
A Poem by Faith Wilding

Waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting . . .
Waiting for someone to come in
Waiting for someone to hold me
Waiting for someone to feed me
Waiting for someone to change my diaper Waiting . . .

Waiting to scrawl, to walk, waiting to talk
Waiting to be cuddled
Waiting for someone to take me outside
Waiting for someone to play with me
Waiting for someone to take me outside
Waiting for someone to read to me, dress me, tie my shoes
Waiting for Mommy to brush my hair
Waiting for her to curl my hair
Waiting to wear my frilly dress
Waiting to be a pretty girl
Waiting to grow up Waiting . . .

Waiting for my breasts to develop
Waiting to wear a bra
Waiting to menstruate
Waiting to read forbidden books
Waiting to stop being clumsy
Waiting to have a good figure
Waiting for my first date
Waiting to have a boyfriend
Waiting to go to a party, to be asked to dance, to dance close
Waiting to be beautiful
Waiting for the secret
Waiting for life to begin Waiting . . .

Waiting to be somebody
Waiting to wear makeup
Waiting for my pimples to go away
Waiting to wear lipstick, to wear high heels and stockings
Waiting to get dressed up, to shave my legs
Waiting to be pretty Waiting . . .

Waiting for him to notice me, to call me
Waiting for him to ask me out
Waiting for him to pay attention to me
Waiting for him to fall in love with me
Waiting for him to kiss me, touch me, touch my breasts
Waiting for him to pass my house
Waiting for him to tell me I’m beautiful
Waiting for him to ask me to go steady
Waiting to neck, to make out, waiting to go all the way
Waiting to smoke, to drink, to stay out late
Waiting to be a woman Waiting . . .

Waiting for my great love
Waiting for the perfect man
Waiting for Mr. Right Waiting . . .

Waiting to get married
Waiting for my wedding day
Waiting for my wedding night
Waiting for sex
Waiting for him to make the first move
Waiting for him to excite me
Waiting for him to give me pleasure
Waiting for him to give me an orgasm Waiting . . .

Waiting for him to come home, to fill my time Waiting . . .
Waiting for my baby to come
Waiting for my belly to swell
Waiting for my breasts to fill with milk
Waiting to feel my baby move
Waiting for my legs to stop swelling
Waiting for the first contractions
Waiting for the contractions to end
Waiting for the head to emerge
Waiting for the first scream, the afterbirth
Waiting to hold my baby
Waiting for my baby to suck my milk
Waiting for my baby to stop crying
Waiting for my baby to sleep through the night
Waiting for my breasts to dry up
Waiting to get my figure back, for the stretch marks to go away
Waiting for some time to myself
Waiting to be beautiful again
Waiting for my child to go to school
Waiting for life to begin again Waiting . . .

Waiting for my children to come home from school
Waiting for them to grow up, to leave home
Waiting to be myself
Waiting for excitement
Waiting for him to tell me something interesting, to ask me how I feel
Waiting for him to stop being crabby, reach for my hand, kiss me good morning
Waiting for fulfillment
Waiting for the children to marry
Waiting for something to happen Waiting . . .

Waiting to lose weight
Waiting for the first gray hair
Waiting for menopause
Waiting to grow wise
Waiting . . .

Waiting for my body to break down, to get ugly
Waiting for my flesh to sag
Waiting for my breasts to shrivel up
Waiting for a visit from my children, for letters
Waiting for my friends to die
Waiting for my husband to die Waiting . . .

Waiting to get sick
Waiting for things to get better
Waiting for winter to end
Waiting for the mirror to tell me that I’m old
Waiting for a good bowel movement
Waiting for the pain to go away
Waiting for the struggle to end
Waiting for release
Waiting for morning
Waiting for the end of the day
Waiting for sleep Waiting . . .

“Waiting” was performed at Womanhouse in Los Angeles sponsored by the Feminist Art Program, California Institute of the Arts.