Friday night,
I walked the streets with my husband, my son
and some newly met friends
from Church.
We visited the art gallery for a local show
greeted by community members
in cosplay
as the Krampus- a dark counterpart
to the saint memorialized for gifts.
We kept our tiny one away from
the half-demon and half-goat costumery
to keep his thoughts and dreams free
of the dark imagery.
It worked.
We asked him what he thought of the people
pretending to be bad guys
and he said "they're kind of scary."
And so the night went.
Saturday night,
we returned as a family of three
to the same downtown streets
for a lighting of the community Christmas tree.
My husband, always the claustrophobe,
took the stairs in the parking garage
and I teased him for being scared of the elevator.
My son loves elevators, so in we went
and pushed the button,
and there was my husband on the ground floor,
waiting for us.
We giggled as a family and found our way,
a little early,
to the tree-lighting. We enjoyed the lights
in the adjacent park, took a family selfie,
and cheered as the Mayor and his grand-daughter
turned on the Christmas tree.
We asked our son if he wanted to stay for a
picture with Santa.
"Umm, no thanks," he replied. "He's kind of weird."
We walked back to the car as a family.
Little one asked what the button with the
firefighter's hat was for
and I told him,
"It's so people can get help if they need it.
But we only press it in times when someone really needs help."
"Okay," he cheered, as his Dad appeared at the
opening elevator door.
Sunday night, I read an opinion letter
in the local newspaper.
A member of the religion I profess
tried to explain the importance of human life
inelegantly.
My mother soul longed for the children I've lost,
the time I thought I would die, so I wrote
a letter back,
asking for empathy and kindess
as those claiming Christ wade into the messy
debate about abortion.
Wednesday night, in the same little city,
the same block,
the same elevator,
someone I-don't-know-if-I-know was raped,
by a man with identified twin demons
of schizophrenia,
and methamphetamine addiction.
The darkness runs deeper than the coming solstice.
Another woman opened the elevator door,
exposing darkness with light.
Thursday night, in the only local newspaper,
I read about the crime.
Pray with me for the women:
violently victimized
and a brave-enough upstander.
My empath soul weeps with the woman who opened the door
of the elevator to witness a crime
and had to make an immediate choice
that allowed everyone involved to live.
The woman attacked described fear
of dying,
of never seeing her children.
The darkness in the story is so thick you can reach
and hold it in your fingers.
This is the tension of Advent,
the waiting,
the darkness longing for hope.
Sin is real and fights
and tries to destroy
and kill
and rob families.
Krampus and St. Nicholas are fiction,
but characters personifying
darkness and light.
Oh Jesus, come.
Let Light win.
Let Life win.
