The Small Moments of Advent

I have just a few moments on this busy Saturday before Advent to share two things: a sequence and a secret. 

The first is a sequence of Advent poetry I composed for the caregivers of The Good Samaritan Society (www.gss.org). The theme of the sequence is finding God in small places, and when feeling small yourself. It contains a prayer, four meditations on small things which correspond to the four themes of Advent – hope, peace, joy, and love – and a final blessing. I will be posting the poems individually here over the Advent season, but if you would like them put together in a little booklet, accompanied by beautiful illustrations, just subscribe to the blog and you’ll receive it in your inbox. (If you already are a subscriber, it will be on its way to you soon.) My little gift to you.

Advent and Christmas can be a “big deal,” and there’s nothing wrong with that. But this season can make us feel overwhelmed. Here’s a secret I learned in concussion recovery: small moments matter. Small moments – of care for self, connection with others, and anchoring in the presence of God – can have a huge impact on the atmosphere of our days. 

So don’t ignore that need to stop and breathe, even just for two minutes, that request for a cuddle, or that invitation to find a quiet moment with God. Small moments add up with surprising weight. 

That’s all the time I have for now . . . I’d like to leave you with the first poem in the Advent sequence, with my prayer for a blessed Advent season. 

The Prayer of the Shrinking Day

The geese have flown
and the black-tipped fingers of night
claw into my fading colour
a little earlier, a little hungrier,
like thin winter mice
nibbling the edges of my capacity.

And I find myself growing smaller,
pulling this threadbare coat tighter against the cold,
      tighter,
      colder,
      smaller,
      darker.

Is there enough of me left to withstand
the expanding night?
Have I shrunk out of sight,
out of rightful mind,
out of the migration path of God?

Oh heavens, the horizon is lost — 
do you hear my meagre cry? 

{Illustration by Elizabeth Evans}

Lindsey Gallant
S. D. G.