Put not your trust in rulers, nor in any child of earth, 
for there is no help in them. 
Psalm 146:2  

It’s the day after. The day after Thanksgiving. Or the day after that. Or the day after we arrive home travel weary. And as we hurtle into this Advent season I feel a bit battered and uncertain of the landscape ahead. As if I am about to enter some post-apocalyptic geography as described in the novels I loved to read as a teen. Does the way ahead reveal the deprivation and loss of a people who pridefully scripted their own demise? Maybe I’d rather not go.

And yet. And yet it is Advent that awaits me. The coming. The season of light in the darkness, of the wolf dwelling with the lamb, of the inbreaking of the one in whom all things hold together.

So I will begin again; hurling myself into the uncertain, flinging my soul upon the mercy of the holy, trusting with all my might the certainty of the Coming.