As week one of Advent 2017 draws to a close, I confess that I still do not have an advent wreath with candles to light. There are several felt pieces placed on the Advent tree, but we have not lit a candle. This might be an inadvertent grace bestowed upon our house, as there is a resulting lack of strife over that particular tradition.
It happened this way. I saw through a small clear storage bin, poking out of the top of a felt Christmas gift bag, one pink candle. I was rummaging around the Christmas section of the cellar taking inventory of what was there over Thanksgiving break.
Advent arrived late this year, the latest possible date. Seeing that pink candle offered a false confidence that I did not have to worry about gathering others. I did not investigate further. Certainly there were purple and white ones in the bin, as well. Certainly the varied-height brass candle holders were buried in the bottom of that felt bag. Certainly I would not have decluttered them after last Christmas thinking, I will start over fresh next year with a new idea.
There was so much certainty.
I moved on to other things.
The girls helped assemble and decorate the living room tree the day after Thanksgiving while the boys went hiking. They cleared mantels, pulled out Nutcrackers and other decorations, and created a festive atmosphere in the living and dining rooms. I did not have to do much, other than rejoice in the fact that there was still one Sunday before the beginning of Advent.
I passed by a display of Advent candles at the Farmer’s Market while shopping with my daughter the following day. I don’t need to spend $7.50 on those. I have candles in the basement. Certainly.
There was one pink candle in the basement. It is still there.
I am uncertain.
I am uncertain as to whether I will search out and purchase more candles. I am uncertain about how I will choose to display them if I do. I am uncertain about why this even matters.
Maybe it mirrors more fully the uncertainty I feel in other areas of life that have, frankly, felt certain. They were so certain that I did not have to look more closely at them. I knew they were there in the bin. Sure, I could only actually see one thing, but the others had to be close behind.
Except they weren’t, and now I have to decide what to do. It feels a lot bigger than heading to the store for something new. It is heading into my heart to discover the hidden, to seek out what matters, to find what was lost.
Maybe in the continued unpacking of Christmas decorations, I will discover the candles and holders. Maybe in continued processing I will find what is true in my heart.
Maybe that one pink candle will lead me to something new.