The snow is falling. Tiny perfectly formed distinct snowflakes beginning to cover the grass. My parents have been here and gone. Bringing the new swing set built with posts my dad found and newly concreted into our yard. It makes me smile to see it there~to imagine Abigail and Simon swinging and morning glories twining around the uprights.
The coffee my mom fixed for lunch, while I was assisting with the post setting, is too hot and too strong for my tastes, but I keep drinking it. Perhaps a little (more) sugar will help.
Abigail and Simon are playing with a friend hanging out with us while his mom sleeps off the flu. The dog is sleeping behind my chair, just where he feels he must be. Chris is getting our old car ready to sell to a becoming-better-friends friend.
The advent candles are burning down with the wait. The fabric for her dress waits to be formed into what it is meant to be. I'm having a hard time getting into a hurry though the days of preparation are drawing to an end. And I wonder, how near the end of waiting for His arrival we really are. On this very shortest day of the year, a day talked of as apocalyptic for months, I wonder how long will I be waiting to be formed into what I am meant to be. In the very blink of an eye, at the sound of His voice.
I find it a good day wanting what I have; resting in the dark of a winter solstice rung in with the gray of a snow storm; knowing that the days of preparation are drawing to an end, whenever that will be.