
Maybe peace isn’t stillness. Maybe peace isn’t even something we “do” at all. Maybe peace simply “is.”
What remains of Christmas past is this: the feeling of those weeks, compressed now into something both smaller and larger than they were. How the waiting itself became the thing we waited for. How we rushed toward events that we also wanted never to arrive, because arrival meant ending, and ending meant the long, ordinary months that followed.
I went to buy Advent candles today. It was a big box store. The young employee had no idea what I was talking about.

Advent is a season of waiting and expectation for Christmas — the birth of Christ, the Nativity of Our Lord.
In the four weeks leading up to Christmas Day, churches that observe ancient liturgy light candles each week of Advent, all of which have significant meaning.