Advent 1 2018

9 years ago I came to an end of sorts on this blog after a series of Advent reflections. Between now and then a few moves, a dog, a husband, a son gained; a father lost; a few churches joined and left; a marathon run. Anyway, feels right to make another try at writing here at advent - to start it up and see if the engine still turns over.

My life moment by moment feels largely composed of the questions: When will my son need to eat? When will he sleep and for how long? And how much of all the other tasks that aren't baby related can I fit into that time - not the least of which is my own eating and sleeping, and a bonus when I can hang out with my husband (OMG, we actually have a date scheduled next week!!!!).

So I felt like a reindeer in the headlights (sleighlights?) this morning when someone in Quaker meeting mentioned it was the first day of Advent.

Anticipation.
Expectation.
Longing and wondering.

And especially what does this mean to me now, in this season? And how do I share that with my son? How do I live into the expectation and hope of Christ's arrival?

We read a "My first Nativity" board book to the baby - acting out the suggestions of looking for the star in the sky, and looking for the new born king, then we sang Hark the Herald. While my husband and I read and acted and sang our son sat on his Dad's lap and played with a measuring cup, vocalized along, exercised some serious gymnastics and contortions, sucked his thumb and seemed excited about his forthcoming oatmeal followed by his traditional breastmilk nightcap.

And the thing that I've really been thinking about in this run up to Advent and now today is sweet Mary and breastfeeding. I'd never thought about before, but baby Jesus had to eat. So when I stumble to the rocking chair and grab up my boy in the middle of the night, I've thought quietly of the Mother of God - bleary eyed, tired and tender, nursing and comforting a little baby boy.

As a man and a minister Christ says "This is my body given for you..." Was he thinking about the babies he'd seen breastfeeding? About how a mother feeds her love out of her own flesh - how her milk is safety, nourishment, comfort, sustenance?

I've never felt so visceral a connection to the words Jesus speaks at the communion table before - they've always seemed so metaphorical, vaguely poetic. But here I sit knowing that in a few hours I'll nurse an infant - that my body took in extra water and calories today to meet not just my own physical needs, but his. My sleep will be interrupted, my body freely given, and my boy will fall back asleep with his needs met again.

Communion: a gift one to another, a meeting of needs, a quenching, a rest.

I'll say a prayer of thanks for my husband, for my boy, for my body that provides, I'll think of sweet Mary with a new respect and knowledge, and I'll pray to have the same trust in Christ that my baby has in me - that when I come in need, I will be filled up and sleep in peace again.