I stumbled to my coffee maker and began my morning ritual. I ground beans, measured them into a filter, and reached for the glass coffee pot - only to discover a roach had died in it over night.
Dead roach in coffee pot. That's how I felt this morning.
It's the third Sunday in advent and I was home alone, battling pain. Last weekend I battled a cough that tired my ribs. An inhaler settled it down, but by mid week, one last little cough popped something in my side that has hurt ever since. A doc will read the x-rays tomorrow, but whether a rib is fractured or not, I'm slowed again, maneuvering with pain.
Dead roach in coffee pot.
I gave up on the coffee and sat down on our sofa to attend TV church in my pj's. The pastor from Second Ponce de Leon Baptist Church delivered a message that gave me what I needed to clean out that pot, make fresh coffee, and move on with my day.
He talked about thin places, moments where the veil between earth and heaven becomes translucent, thin, clear; our awareness of the divine poignant and true. He said that Christmas is a season ripe with thin places, which is why I feel like I'm missing out.
I spent last Christmas season recovering from ankle surgery and preparing to move. And just when my cough seemed to settle after a month of sickness this year, my rib gave way and I'm struggling to keep my day to day schedule going, let alone participate in extra Christmas fun.
Dr. David Snapp reminded me that to encounter thin places, we must be willing to have our lives interrupted. And once interrupted, we must learn to wait with patience and anticipation. His words helped me see my current challenge in a different way. For everyone who was in the manger in Bethlehem were visitors to the town. Their lives had been interrupted and they had taken a journey to a foreign land - and there they encountered the divine.
My journey through advent is different again this year. But it's still my journey. It's still a walk through the ordinary in search of the divine; a thin place, the place of wonder and awe. For God became man and dwelt among us.
Dead roach in coffee pot. That's how I felt this morning.
It's the third Sunday in advent and I was home alone, battling pain. Last weekend I battled a cough that tired my ribs. An inhaler settled it down, but by mid week, one last little cough popped something in my side that has hurt ever since. A doc will read the x-rays tomorrow, but whether a rib is fractured or not, I'm slowed again, maneuvering with pain.
Dead roach in coffee pot.
I gave up on the coffee and sat down on our sofa to attend TV church in my pj's. The pastor from Second Ponce de Leon Baptist Church delivered a message that gave me what I needed to clean out that pot, make fresh coffee, and move on with my day.
He talked about thin places, moments where the veil between earth and heaven becomes translucent, thin, clear; our awareness of the divine poignant and true. He said that Christmas is a season ripe with thin places, which is why I feel like I'm missing out.
I spent last Christmas season recovering from ankle surgery and preparing to move. And just when my cough seemed to settle after a month of sickness this year, my rib gave way and I'm struggling to keep my day to day schedule going, let alone participate in extra Christmas fun.
Dr. David Snapp reminded me that to encounter thin places, we must be willing to have our lives interrupted. And once interrupted, we must learn to wait with patience and anticipation. His words helped me see my current challenge in a different way. For everyone who was in the manger in Bethlehem were visitors to the town. Their lives had been interrupted and they had taken a journey to a foreign land - and there they encountered the divine.
My journey through advent is different again this year. But it's still my journey. It's still a walk through the ordinary in search of the divine; a thin place, the place of wonder and awe. For God became man and dwelt among us.
