The sky over our neighbourhood is a solid grey-white colour, hanging heavy, anticipating a heavy snowfall tonight.
On the buffet in our dining room there is a small, still-empty artificial Christmas tree, ready to be hung with symbols of His Glorious Coming.
The dining table--not much used except for celebration meals and family devotions--is empty except for a lace tablecloth and a large, empty crystal bowl. Some years during Advent we have had a table busy with boxes of crayons, many colouring pages and song sheets, the candle wreath, and other busyness. When we began our season of devotions around the table last night, I said:
"The emptiness here represents two things, two kinds of emptiness. The emptiness of the world that was longing for the Messiah. And a good kind of emptiness: emptying ourselves, making room for Christ, pushing away things that don't matter."
I know the crayons will come out soon. The tree will get covered, piece by piece. The wreath will be brought out tomorrow night, and we'll make room for that. The whole room will begin to fill up again. Our pantry shelves are also full and overflowing (and as they empty, the cookie containers and freezer bags will get filled).
And most likely, the empty sky will soon be filled with falling snow, as will our driveway. (Mr. Fixit is, at this moment, filling the snowblower with gasoline.)
But for now--this moment--I am savouring the emptiness.