based on advent week 3 post: do we deserve joy?
the advent of joy
comes with a baby’s womb-leaping
and a once-barren woman, familiar with shame,
rejoicing over a pregnancy others called shameful;
she calls out blessing instead:
she names Mary blessed,
and her words spark joy:
in a woman fleeing a whispery hometown,
full of those thinking they are better than her,
that they’ve never made mistakes like she has.
she sings of their downfall
and of her uplifted self,
chosen for this obedience,
chosen for grace instead of shame.
she didn’t downplay her blessing,
or silence the joyous celebration
knitting a baby within her,
siphoning off her supply
to feed a fetus, growing
to overturn the world;
overturning hers first,
stretching her body to bear
a child who would fulfill
the song she sang in that courtyard.
bittersweet tears on her cheeks
as she embraced a fellow woman,
also partnered with a miracle-baby,
after years of infertility-gifted disgrace,
rising out of shame:
Elizabeth received this promise,
from incense-smoke silenced husband,
to bear joy in a woman’s body,
in a baby long after her prime.
the advent of our joy
is not without grief,
or years of waiting,
or whispers, or conflict;
it is not without our bodies,
or desires of hearts,
or hopes, or dreams;
it is not without some darkness,
some hidden shame,
or pain or ache or stretch marks.
the advent of our joy
is within these spaces,
these circumstances,
these stories.
it’s in the emotions we bury,
the shatterings we endure,
the years that snuff out the light.
we have not missed joy’s arrival;
our waiting is not in vain.
its advent arrives unexpectedly.
the advent of our joy
must come as a birth:
with growth, with grace,
with heaps of stretching
and making room.
it comes with community,
who embrace us knowingly,
who join our song.
and it comes with shadow,
for birthing is no easy task.
there may not be space for us yet,
it may take awhile to recover,
and new grace is needed
to fill up the places left emptied,
and to still see good
in all of the gritted-teeth hard.
the advent of joy
came with a body
and a birth;
with a star
and the strength of a woman;
with the grief of uncertain times
and refugees fleeing tyrant kings;
with angels singing good news
and outcasts being invited first.
does that sound like now?
does it sound like you?
can your story, right now,
be an advent story, too?
the advent of your joy
may not be what you are looking for
but is what you need, deserve,
and can choose;
even when its shadow-side remains.
mary sang with morning sickness’ breath;
elizabeth rejoiced between 3rd trimester kicks,
and you too can lift up your eyes,
before the circumstances fully lift,
and see the joy adventing now,
in the in-between, a rock and hard place,
joy does not miss a crevice.
joy does not miss, nor overlook, you.
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