Twas the night before the night before the night before Christmas...

This year is Samuel's very first Christmas and I wanted it to be special.  Not only did it have to be meaningful and picturesque but it had to be stress-free and, since this is the year I have truly begun to feel a calling towards a domestic vocation, it had to be filled with spiritual goodness.   My family was going to rise up and call me blessed if it killed me!  And so I had great and noble plans for an Advent wreath.  I debated ordering special candles online but waited too long to get it done, and so instead I went to the local natural food store and bought four of these lovely little local beeswax Christmas tree candles, spending over $10 on them, which was exhorbitant and not really in my budget anyway.  But I was going to  have an Advent wreath, gosh darn it.  I brought out a silver platter to display them on, making note on the way to buy silver polish.  It was a lot of work to polish a platter only to drip beeswax on it, yes, but I was going to have an Advent wreath! I bundled up the baby into his stroller, which he hates, and we went for a walk to pick authentic greenery to place around our candles (completely covering the silver platter but that's beside the point) which took forever and still wasn't accomplished by the end of our walk, despite the screaming infant.  Yes, it was stressful, but I was going to have an Advent wreath!  I cleared off the table, muttering all the while, completely absorbed in complaining about clutter - no where to place the blessed wreath!  I thought into the night about what to decorate it with, even going so far as to debate painting pinecones and collecting nuts to scatter, and breaking into our stored decorations to look for perfect ornaments.  Then about two weeks before Christmas I was lying in bed, chatting with a friend before turning in to read (The Complete Food Encyclopedia, if you're curious) when the phone went dead and the power went off.  I mean really went off, even the street lights.  I have grown in many ways over the years but I am ashamed to say that my childhood fear of the dark has never gone away.  I felt an immediate rush of adrenaline and then a cold terror.  The baby was asleep in the next room but David was at work and would be for hours.  I told myself to be calm, just breathe, everyone was safe, everything was okay, but I was shaking as I rummaged in the pitch black for the small flashlight that I usually keep on my bedside table.  It wasn't there.  Friends, I had to go into the dark hallway and find a light.  I knew there was a large flashlight in the livingroom, but when I got there I found it was out of batteries.  I made my way, holding the wall and shaking like a leaf, to the kitchen, where I knew there was a book of matches and a scented candle I keep on the stove.  I lit it, and it's dull light barely gave me enough vision to make it back to the livingroom.  Then I remembered the Christmas tree candles.  I debated for a moment, because I knew I didn't have enough time before Advent to go back out and get more, even if I could afford the luxury of hand-made candles, which I really can't.  I decided my fear of the dark outweighed my desire for the perfect Advent wreath, and I lit two of the trees.  They burst into light, putting my little scented candle to shame, and burned so steadily and brightly that immediately I felt better.  I even gathered up a book and a blanket to sit in the livingroom and wait for David's arrival home.  And although they burned quickly, they were beautiful, and so welcome, so peaceful and so meaningful.  I don't think that Samuel will give a hoot about an Advent wreath this year, and although I wanted it so badly, wanting that symbol actually ended up ruining the meaning of it for me.  When I needed it, the candles I had purchased to pray for the arrival of the Christ child ended up being Christ's instruments to minister to me.  A light unto my darkness and a cessation of my all-too-real fears.