Dec 1: The First Sunday of Advent – The Light of Hope Begins

 

"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all." – Emily Dickinson

Dear Readers,

The village of Whosville had faced its darkest year. Droughts had ruined the crops, and the once-bustling marketplace was now filled with hollowed faces. Even the chapel, a sanctuary for the townsfolk, seemed cloaked in gloom as the first Sunday of Advent approached.

Ivanka, just eight years old, was chosen to light the Advent candle that evening. Her mother had dressed her in a simple white dress, the fabric patched but lovingly ironed. As Ivanka walked down the aisle clutching a matchstick, she could feel the weight of the crowd’s silent prayers pressing upon her.

The sanctuary was silent except for the rustle of coats and scarves as people leaned in to watch. With trembling hands, Ivanka struck the match. The tiny flame flickered, threatened by the cold draft that seeped through the chapel’s old wooden doors. She feared it would die out for a moment, but then the wick caught fire, and the flame steadied.

Padre Martin’s voice broke the silence. “This is how hope begins,” he said, his tone warm yet commanding. “A single light in the darkness, small but steadfast. It grows brighter, stronger, and spreads to those around it.”

The flame cast its glow across the room, illuminating the villagers' weary faces. In that fragile light, they saw not just a candle but a promise a reminder that even in their struggles, hope could spark anew.

As Ivanka returned to her seat, she caught her mother’s tearful smile and felt something stir in her chest. The light wasn’t just for the village but also for her.

God Bless You All…

Jacob M