Over the years, the following poem has proven to be one of my most favorite pieces of reflection for Advent.
This poem asks questions about what it means to be "ready," and gently resists the idea that "readiness" and "perfection" are the same thing - which I wrote about earlier this week.
This poem also talks about the holiness living in this good creation, and seeing God in the beauty and vulnerability of creatures and seasons, in both their flourishing and their decay.
Like so much of Mary Oliver's poems, it is an invitation to slow down, to pause, and to pay attention, recognizing that all of these things are deeply spiritual practices.
Mary Oliver
Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice — it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances — but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will
come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox,
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.
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