One of our most enduring Advent traditions is the part where I forget Advent.

I have never planned our observation of Advent more than one day in advance, ever. This has mostly worked. My house has ample candles because we’re anxious about losing power (knock on wood– we have never lost power in this house). When we lived in Black Rock, I’d prune the evergreen bushes at the Vacant House, two doors down. When we moved to South Buffalo, the Vacant House was next door and I’d pilfer hickory boughs. Then the owner returned and took down the tree. I drew a wreath this year.

I drew a wreath after dinner because even though the church service included ample discussion of Advent, I still forgot. Yes, Unitarian Universalists do Advent. Well, some of us do. It’s like anything else.

It’s hard to grab the paddle when you’re being swept away. The river is my life and the paddle is the will to do something intentional, to direct myself. I would like traditions. I expect traditions to feel like a moment where I stop and go, “AND NOW we shall…” But instead, we’re fitting every moment in between several other moments, other events or tasks or obligations. I put the Christmas lights up outside just as the lake effect band closed in. We’re fitting a lot of living into life. Hanging the lights was an impulsive choice, an opportunity that I wasn’t certain I could fully seize. I stared at the clouds and still green grass and I went for it. I finished with numb fingers and snow in the air. Now my porch and privet bush are illuminated in light.

That risk of, “I think this could work,” leading you to reach towards uncertain loveliness, the willingness to participate in uncertainty – all of that is hope. Hope is only exists if we’re not sure. Hope only exists if we have a longing for something better.

There are a lot of potentially unpleasant things on the horizon. Some are explicitly threatened, some are projected, and some horrors are the products of my wild imagination. Dread is the zeitgeist. Letting my mind wander unsupervised often results in it finding some dark places.

I have become better at living in the moment, which sometimes means I’m not thinking very far ahead. I am immersed in what’s in front of me – much of it is very good. Then I see the calendar and realize it’s time for Advent. Or my husband cracks a joke about how I’ve fulfilled our advent tradition because I forgot about Advent, yet again.

But the advent wreath was drawn and the candle is lit, and hope is such an enduring topic that a family conversation tomorrow is just as relevant as a conversation today. When isn’t hope an enduring topic? The sea’s unsteady and that’s the way it’s always been. There’s never been a safe time to be alive. Yet, here we are. That alone is cause for hope.