I make up own line for this week, but I'm still not satisfied- "The fourth light of Advent is the light of man, learning and striving to be all we can."
The idea of striving is significant in my life. I do not like to talk about perfection, because trying is often enough. I think we can get so lost in focusing on perfect that we lose sight of the situation as it presents itself. My life is far from perfect, and still I love living it. I fail, and still I get up ready to try it again. Now if I could just get a sense of humor...
Showing posts with label Advent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Advent. Show all posts
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
The Third Week of Advent
"The third light of Advent is the light of the beasts; it shines in the greatest and shines in the least."
That part of the poem doesn't quite work for me, but I still like the idea it presents. And we say this poem as we light two Advent candles this week.
It's time for us to think of the animals around us and their special work in the world. We think on the ruminating cow and soaring hawk and busy ant and industrious spider and biting mosquito. We acknowledge what we share with our fellow creatures and that we are indeed supposed to share. We make room for them and hope to find space for ourselves.
That part of the poem doesn't quite work for me, but I still like the idea it presents. And we say this poem as we light two Advent candles this week.
It's time for us to think of the animals around us and their special work in the world. We think on the ruminating cow and soaring hawk and busy ant and industrious spider and biting mosquito. We acknowledge what we share with our fellow creatures and that we are indeed supposed to share. We make room for them and hope to find space for ourselves.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
The Second Week of Advent
"The second light of Advent is the light of the plants; plants that reach up for the sun and in the breezes dance."
Plants remind us that everything we love about our world depends on the light of the sun. There is nothing we enjoy or need to live without the sun. And the plants' worship of this star is a reminder to us to appreciate that outer light even as we find ourselves in darkness.
Also, we are nothing without plants. Even if all you eat is meat, meat traces it's own survival back to plants.
Plants cleanse our air; they are the lungs of earth.
And, plants are pretty. There's nothing like a swath of parking lot to parch your eyes and your soul. Hans Christian Anderson said green was good for the eyes; I think he was right.
Plants remind us that everything we love about our world depends on the light of the sun. There is nothing we enjoy or need to live without the sun. And the plants' worship of this star is a reminder to us to appreciate that outer light even as we find ourselves in darkness.
Also, we are nothing without plants. Even if all you eat is meat, meat traces it's own survival back to plants.
Plants cleanse our air; they are the lungs of earth.
And, plants are pretty. There's nothing like a swath of parking lot to parch your eyes and your soul. Hans Christian Anderson said green was good for the eyes; I think he was right.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Winter Awoke
There was a day last week when we had balmy 52 degree weather, and I was overcome with a sense of "Hurry!" The very next day, the temperature dropped and we've had little flurries most days. Now, there's about an inch of snow on the ground and the water in the river has changed to it's wintry hue.
No more laundry on the line outside. The snow pants have emerged. No more leaf raking. More knitting and sewing and baking. Tidier indoor space even as we engage in messier indoor work.
Maybe now, we can finish the greenhouse in a rush. Maybe we can build shelves and make a bit of cupboard and counter beside the stove. Maybe we can paint trim and put it up. Maybe we can do the last couple of window repairs. Maybe we'll do a crossword and play a few more games and put together a puzzle.
It won't be long before we ski. We start skating lessons next week. Winter isn't all bad.
No more laundry on the line outside. The snow pants have emerged. No more leaf raking. More knitting and sewing and baking. Tidier indoor space even as we engage in messier indoor work.
Maybe now, we can finish the greenhouse in a rush. Maybe we can build shelves and make a bit of cupboard and counter beside the stove. Maybe we can paint trim and put it up. Maybe we can do the last couple of window repairs. Maybe we'll do a crossword and play a few more games and put together a puzzle.
It won't be long before we ski. We start skating lessons next week. Winter isn't all bad.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Our Rocks
The rocks around us are granite, lots of granite. And throughout Vermont, people struggle with this pushing up into their fields each spring when the frost action heaves new rocks up to the surface.
On our property, we have a unique situation. We have sand- lots and lots of sand. We can dig a twelve post holes and plant twenty trees and only hit a handful of rocks, all smaller than a fist. To put that in perspective- we have friends in many different households who feel lucky to hit only one rock any time they dig any hole.
So, I feel gratitude for our soil. It has it's problems; it dries out fast in the summer (although that's a boon the rest of the year), it is not terribly fertile, it lacks much in the way of humus, it's pretty acidic. Many people with a world more experience than I have say these problems are minor compared to the complications of clay soil that is prevalent in Vermont.
I look around and try to figure out why there is all this sand right in this spot. Our property is sort of a shoulder of a hill. There's a fairly steep drop down to it and then another fairly steep drop away from it. Erosion is a steady concern. But what erodes from above is sand. And the trail that runs down below is sand. I figure Old Dame Nature put the sand on this somewhat flat spot, but I do not quite understand why our hill is sand in the land of clay soils. Maybe that hill was already ground up at some other point and deposited there by moving water?
On our property, we have a unique situation. We have sand- lots and lots of sand. We can dig a twelve post holes and plant twenty trees and only hit a handful of rocks, all smaller than a fist. To put that in perspective- we have friends in many different households who feel lucky to hit only one rock any time they dig any hole.
So, I feel gratitude for our soil. It has it's problems; it dries out fast in the summer (although that's a boon the rest of the year), it is not terribly fertile, it lacks much in the way of humus, it's pretty acidic. Many people with a world more experience than I have say these problems are minor compared to the complications of clay soil that is prevalent in Vermont.
I look around and try to figure out why there is all this sand right in this spot. Our property is sort of a shoulder of a hill. There's a fairly steep drop down to it and then another fairly steep drop away from it. Erosion is a steady concern. But what erodes from above is sand. And the trail that runs down below is sand. I figure Old Dame Nature put the sand on this somewhat flat spot, but I do not quite understand why our hill is sand in the land of clay soils. Maybe that hill was already ground up at some other point and deposited there by moving water?
Sunday, November 28, 2010
For Advent
I am going to try to type a post for every day of Advent. They will get posted oddly, because of my internet situation, but I think it will not matter too much. Forgive me if you get bored, or check back later when Advent is over. Not all theposts will be Advent- related.
I may have mentioned before that I did not mark Advent until I was well into my parenting journey. And when I started setting it aside as something special, I found it very uncomfortable. For starters, I’m not particularly Christian (and I’m not willing to argue over that in this forum). I enjoy Christmas and have always enjoyed Christmas, because my mother made such a big deal of it. Yes, of course, I enjoyed getting presents, but I remember most vividly all the anticipation- for the relatives and the Christmas party and the caroling and the baking and the extra time with my family and the school vacation and the school party and the dreams of snow and the late nights with my siblings and the card games and the trips and the wrapping and the secrets and the mystery and the special meals and, of course, the presents.
So the notion of this time of year being exceptional was an easy enough concept, but I did not know much about Advent, nor did I have a grasp on how to bring it meaningfully into our family. I entered Advent by way of Waldorf, and I feel happy to have found it.
For those of you who do not know, Advent is the time beginning four Sundays before Christmas Eve. I will mention again that I am not completely versed in the traditions of Advent, so you might want to get particulars yourself. What you’ll find here is my understanding and my interpretations and practices based on that understanding.
Advent, for us, is a time for turning inward. Outer light is waning, and we have the shortest days of the year. As the light outside of us decreases, we have more time to acknowledge the light carried inside each of us. I like this idea of honoring our inner light, but I also like to mark the weeks of Advent the way I learned of them through Waldorf.
This is the first week, and we honor the light of the stones- “stones that live in seashells, in crystals, and in bones.” Earth is quite special, as we all know, but life is built on these rocks. They are ground by wind and water into the soil that feeds us and into the minerals that make up life.
I have trouble explaining this week’s focus to the children every year, but I feel awe when I walk in a stream bed and see what the water is making for us (and I do not mean only humans, but all life forms). Even volcanoes, as destructive as they are, bring rock to the surface of the earth in an enriching way.
I may have mentioned before that I did not mark Advent until I was well into my parenting journey. And when I started setting it aside as something special, I found it very uncomfortable. For starters, I’m not particularly Christian (and I’m not willing to argue over that in this forum). I enjoy Christmas and have always enjoyed Christmas, because my mother made such a big deal of it. Yes, of course, I enjoyed getting presents, but I remember most vividly all the anticipation- for the relatives and the Christmas party and the caroling and the baking and the extra time with my family and the school vacation and the school party and the dreams of snow and the late nights with my siblings and the card games and the trips and the wrapping and the secrets and the mystery and the special meals and, of course, the presents.
So the notion of this time of year being exceptional was an easy enough concept, but I did not know much about Advent, nor did I have a grasp on how to bring it meaningfully into our family. I entered Advent by way of Waldorf, and I feel happy to have found it.
For those of you who do not know, Advent is the time beginning four Sundays before Christmas Eve. I will mention again that I am not completely versed in the traditions of Advent, so you might want to get particulars yourself. What you’ll find here is my understanding and my interpretations and practices based on that understanding.
Advent, for us, is a time for turning inward. Outer light is waning, and we have the shortest days of the year. As the light outside of us decreases, we have more time to acknowledge the light carried inside each of us. I like this idea of honoring our inner light, but I also like to mark the weeks of Advent the way I learned of them through Waldorf.
This is the first week, and we honor the light of the stones- “stones that live in seashells, in crystals, and in bones.” Earth is quite special, as we all know, but life is built on these rocks. They are ground by wind and water into the soil that feeds us and into the minerals that make up life.
I have trouble explaining this week’s focus to the children every year, but I feel awe when I walk in a stream bed and see what the water is making for us (and I do not mean only humans, but all life forms). Even volcanoes, as destructive as they are, bring rock to the surface of the earth in an enriching way.
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