It's been snow and frost for nearly a week up here, and likely to stay that way for a while yet. Braemar was more than -17 degrees last night; we were a mere -11 degrees at 7.00 am this morning.
It stayed below zero all day, and when I came out the door to clear the windscreen and go to the shops, looking down the street there was the most golden sunset. It lasted only a minute or so, but long enough for a photo.
I know ever square foot of this street, having lived here for 12 years. The small pointed tree is in memory of my neighbour. The wheelie bin is left out because the there has been no bin collection. At the bottom of the street a window is lit up by the reflection from the window across the road, of the golden sunset.
Sometimes you have to be prepared to be surprised. I know. That sounds like a doesn't-make-sense sentence. How can you be surprised if you're always prepared for it. A surprise takes you unawares. True enough. But life can become so preoccupied that we are unaware as a chronic way of being in the world. Until something heightens our awareness.
Advent is a time of heightened awareness for Christians. Oh we know Christ has come. The nativity story stays the same no matter how it's dressed up. Christmas day accelerates towards us and our preparations become the focus, more than the fact, the reality, the truth, that Advent is the time when darkness and light take on deep significance. "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light...the Light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it."
Advent gate-crashes our pre-occupations. Advent prepares us to be surprised, again. I sometimes wonder if that's what wonder is - the readiness to be surprised by something we already know is too good to be true. "Arise! Shine! Your light has come, the glory of the Lord has risen on you."
So I come out the door and turn to lock it, and in the turning I see, I accidentally notice in the turning, a sky ablaze with splendour. It's so cold I'd turned quickly, in a hurry to get on with whatever it was I thought so important. And was ambushed by beauty. Advent does that, surprising us with reminders that God is about, and what God is about.
Something as banal as a wheelie bin, sits there in the afterglow of sunset. A window facing the opposite direction from the light, glows with borrowed radiance from the window across the street. And a wee pointed shrub, looks for all the world like a Christmas tree lacking only lights. All visible from my doorstep - if I have eyes to see and inclination to look, and longing enough to be prepared to be surprised.
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