Becky Hafner-Camp
Holiday times often make me think of my childhood. When I think about Advent, various images come to mind: days getting shorter, weather becoming gloomier and colder, anticipation of the birth of Jesus, thinking about presents to give (and receive!), knowing that I would soon see grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins; and that we would revel in each other’s company. There would be singing, playing music, eating, playing Yahtzee and getting creamed by grandma Minna Hafner in the game of gin rummy. It was worth it to get a piece of her Lebkuchen or Stollen.
We always had an Advent wreath and an Advent calendar. In the ‘50s, the Advent calendars we had did not include candy. When the little door was opened for the day, there was a lovely picture of a wreath, a candle; then, later in the season a shepherd, an angel, or a star would appear.
The predominant feeling was preparing, journeying spiritually, traveling, waiting, and biding that time that was also holy. The lights got brighter as we approached the “oases” on the freeway around Chicago, the Advent wreath glowed more as a new candle was lit, the house brightened as presents appeared, the living room was warmer after the tree lights were added. All this was to prepare. At the end of the Advent season appeared the brightest, most glorious Light of all time, the Prince of Peace and Savior of our world.