I feel like anything I write will sound trivial.
I read this morning that a woman I went to college with died when she was struck by a firetruck on Saturday night. I looked at her photo and remembered her face, and her soft smile, and her quiet passion that I saw when she led a meeting I once attended. I read that she had gotten married in October, just two months ago. And that's when it hit me, that the concepts of peace and hope would be hard to apply to anything today, though the Advent season is intertwined with death as much as life, life in spite of death, all life because of one death. But I felt blinded by the images of flashing lights and the sounds of sirens that buzzed in my head as I read the article describing the horrible scene. I could only blurrily think of all that had been awaiting her. Awaiting, anticipating, which is so much of what I'm doing now, in Advent and in life. This random tragedy is sad and scary, and I feel like I often falter in the veiled gray space between taking life for granted and being overly fearful of everything. I need to remember that there is another option, the choice to embrace and empower and encourage and brighten the world with little loves that turn big. I pray to hold on to that, and I pray for her new husband, her family, her friends... the world that has lost her.
I worked at the office; I ate lunch with a friend I hadn't seen in awhile; I went to the gym; I made dinner and watched basketball and talked to one of my best friends, who always lifts me up. These are little-big blessings, and I am thankful.
Come, Lord Jesus.