I lie down and go to sleep; 
I wake again, because the Lord sustains me. 
Psalm 3:5    

“I have been wondering about that,” my spouse says as I finally put away the bowl full of beautifully decorated wooden and ceramic eggs that had graced our table for the fifty days of Easter. On the feast of Pentecost, I moved them as far as the sideboard–where they have been sitting ever since. 

That was eight months ago. Life has been so full of richness and struggle and transition. I feel like I barely string together one day to the next and at any moment I may lose my grip on my life and all the beads will fall and scatter. And then, as I intentionally enter this liminal space at the start of the Church year, it dawns on me. I am not holding it together at all. It is God who holds me. Sustains me. Makes the next day possible.

I contentedly set the table for Advent. A tablecloth with purple accents my mother gave me years ago; the Advent wreath constructed from recycled candles, three blueish and one rose, surrounded by holly I cut from the bush outside; the book of prayers we always use for this season.

I light one blue candle and we pray the familiar words which usher us into the season of humility.