It’s an amazing experience to witness new life. Jackson Daniel Hobbs, my sweet nephew, was born in a quiet and peaceful room in the wee early hours of Dec. 3, 2012.
It’s so lovely to snuggle him, to smell his sweet hair and feel his soft skin. I love this little baby. In the slow arrival of winter, I am enjoying the quiet days, the chill in the air, the need to wear sweaters and boots. I am enjoying Christmas music (Ave Maria) on my record player. I am loving the anticipation of Christmas. I am enjoying not shopping for Christmas gifts (all of our families decided to skip the presenting this year, and just be together. What a sweet idea!). I am thankful for quiet nights at home, my Mistletoe candle flickering, Pavarotti record crackling, kitty arched and yawning in front of our small fire. I am so thankful for my home, this beautiful sanctuary where we can be quiet and shut out the world. I am especially thankful for the exciting, thrilling, terrifying anticipation of our adopted baby coming home. We are trying to [patiently] wait for news on an available baby…our baby. No news yet. So, these days are passing, slowly. As we wait for our baby, we ponder the coming of the baby, our God Incarnate, the Word made flesh, the light of the world. These days, these times seem to be [in between] days. We live in a perpetual advent, in perpetual waiting for peace, for light, for things to be made right. After the horror in Connecticut, my friend Ben Katt said, “Lest we were beginning to fool ourselves, this past week has been a reminder that our Advent waiting is painful; our hoping, urgent.” As winter arrives, the chill sets in, we grieve over horrific sadness [this week], and so we settle in and try to warm ourselves by the firelight of advent, and we anticipate. Somehow the sweet hope of what’s to come makes the waiting a bit more bearable.