I used to wonder why old people were happy to sit and stare; now I find myself doing it more and more. Ever since I read Pius Parsch's remark, that the Christmas season isn't really about Jesus' birth so much as the Second Coming, I've found Advent more intriguing. And if Christmas is about home and hearth, it means our real home and true end. Even the Second Coming, with its overtones of judgment, means putting the world aright again. The Psalmist yearns for judgment--that we might saved.
These thoughts console, though they come amidst winter and ending. Ending is so sad, December so dark. I sit amidst all my broken life and unfinished work, watching and waiting.