Kendall Smith, No-Div
Kendall is an elementary science teacher and an avid lover of books, nature, and long walks. She is easily distracted by thunderstorms and loves a good conversation over coffee.
I have become addicted to waking up early. There are two things about it that I particularly love: First, coffee. And secondly, Venus. There is something so comforting and lovely about seeing Venus each morning. And I guess if I had to add a third thing, it’d be the dark and quiet. Especially this year. There’s something amazing that happens in the quiet candlelight of a pre-dawn morning--clarity, openness, humility. And also, with the way 2020 has gone, I am so hungry for stillness.
In the advent book that I’m reading, Tsh Oxenreider says, “We are in far greater need for silence and stillness than we are for wisdom from other human beings who are so often eager to share their sage advice.” That has been so true for me. And I’m guessing you feel it, too. So instead of trying to share any more of my own advice or wisdom, I want to acknowledge that perhaps what you need most, too--is stillness.
I’ll cut this short and leave you with something that has been powerful for me this week: Each morning, Venus emerges--the Morning Star--and slowly makes her way up the sky. And the higher she gets, the brighter dawn’s light becomes. Eventually, the sun rise eclipses the light of Venus and she is invisible again. I can’t help but see the story of Christ’s coming, written in the skies each morning. As we sit in the middle of Advent, we wait. The darkness is real, the groanings are all around us. We long for peace, for comfort, for our souls to be refreshed. But each morning, Venus plays the role of someone shouting:
“Clear the way through the wilderness
for the Lord!
Make a straight highway through
the wasteland for our God!
Fill in the valleys,
and level the mountains and hills.
Straighten the curves,
and smooth out the rough places.
Then the glory of the Lord will be revealed,
and all people will see it together.” (Is. 40)
I’ve sat in my chair, every morning for three weeks watching and waiting for the sun to rise, but alas, each time I’m pulled away to get kids ready for school and get myself to work. I haven’t seen it once. But I know it is coming. The dawn is enough to assure me of that. This darkness will not last forever. Our waiting is not in vain. Venus reminds me, “Your God is coming!” (Is. 40:9b)