Here's a secret I'd like to tell. I love Advent better than Christmas. Advent's the journey, the seeking, the waiting. I have to give credit to my parents, who really did a nice job building that sense of anticipation, with the decorations slowly increasing over the weeks, only to culminate in the fully decorated Christmas tree that appeared in our house no sooner than on Christmas eve, around 5pm. This is the time, as I will have you know, when the Christ child delivers presents to German children. It must be that Baby Jesus, Santa and Father Frost and whoever else is in on this global game of sneaking and scheming, have split up the geographical areas and delivery times to make it all feasible? That is what I tell my children to explain the difference in my culture growing up, and theirs, which needed to match that of their school mates and friends.
But back to Advent. I like to have an advent wreath or other seasonal vehicle for four candles every year. We usually craft it together now, the kids are old enough to help. This year's version recycled the log tea light stands the husband made
last year:
And back to the meaning of it all. We shall light one candle more each week, as we wait. And wait we will. With music, hot cider, cookies, and reading stories of
St. Nicholas. In this sea of red and green and golden and glitter and shiny instant gratification, we are going to:
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