Benefit Advent Concert This Saturday Dec. 6th at St. Catherine’s Episcopal Church, Nehalem

     Sadness and grief can be  a little like rain in the Pacific Northwest.  In and out in a day with clearings and sun in between. Other times, full on downpours relentless and sideways as it saturates everything. As a Professional Life Coach, I often work with people in transition.  With transition comes change and with change often comes some letting go. Even really good change can mean a loss of some kind. In my own experience, this journey to my own inner wisdom is seldom glorious or straight. At this time of year, as the Singer Songwriter in me anticipates doing an Advent Concert to raise money for the North County Food Bank, I am deeply aware of how the celebration of coming light is braided with grief and absence. So how do I invite people to come and celebrate the light in the darkness knowing that there is an intrinsic grief that rises when we get quiet and listen? Perhaps it’s a memory of listening to Joni Mitchell sing, “It’s coming on Christmas, they’re cutting down trees, They’re putting up reindeer And singing songs of joy and peace, Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on.” What I knew when I first heard that song, even though Christmas was aligned with my own tradition, was that it was ok to feel sad and not want to celebrate. And, strangely, it freed me up to celebrate. This is why I often open the concert with the invitation to cry if you want, because tears are welcome. It’s also why I think we all inevitably laugh as well.

     In my tradition, the sacred and the luminary share a home with farm animals, farm animal shit, stable straw and lost astrologers. God arrives as a completely dependent baby, has no power and is  dependent on family and strangers for a place to sleep. God seems to begin on earth just the way we all begin. Dependent, helpless, in need, and at the mercy of caretakers.

     While we anticipate something good coming, what my tradition calls Advent, we also navigate the reality of what is present.  The root of the word Advent comes from the Greek word Parousia which means Presence, or Arrival. We live in these tensions all the time. We wait for goodness and light, but we do so by being present to whatever is real right now.

     While we anticipate seeing family, sharing familiar spaces, traditions, or favorite pies, we also usually begin to brace for the inevitable disappointment or heartbreak that is also family and familiar. This can be for so many reasons. A loved one has died. Kids have left home and not returned. A fight with a sibling has never fully resolved. A marriage has dissolved. A dream has been crushed. A diagnosis has been delivered. Parents don’t accept or see you. A friend didn’t show up for you. Plans got rearranged and you weren’t considered. A relationship that felt hopeful dissolved.  And these are only a few of the things that can happen in the mix of a season cluttered with expectations and assumptions. So we celebrate and we grieve.  What is coming has already been. What has been is coming. And, what is here is here if we can be present to it. Grief and joy. Sorrow and laughter. Anger and the sweet sigh of forgiveness. Darkness and Light. This is the way of things.

As I finish up writing, the sun is going down and it’s not even 5pm yet. The familiar adjustment, the uncomfortable angst, the waterfall like presence of gratitude for all that has been and all that is coming. May you find peace knowing you are not alone as you navigate the mix of grief while celebrating.

Join Deb at St. Catherine’s Episcopal Church on Saturday December 6th at 4pm