“What will you be doing for Advent this year?” a friend asked me. She knew that for the past three years, I have engaged in an Advent Photo-a-Day practice, reflecting on a prompt word each day and capturing it in a picture.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “It hurts too much. My heart is still tender from the grief of my dad’s passing.”
In previous years, the season of Advent had been a source of joy and consolation for me. I looked forward to the anticipation and the gentle, dark time of waiting. Advent had always been a time of finding hidden beauty. This year, however. This year was different. I couldn’t even think about Advent without tears welling up and my chest feeling like it had exploded. Or maybe imploded. Oh, what a raw place.
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