Trust: An Advent Journey

I have made a practice of choosing a word for each year. I simply stay open and listen, and the word comes to me over time. This year's word was trust.

It is not surprising, really, that the word trust found me. As 2017 drew to a close, I was beginning to notice how often in the two years prior I had felt betrayed by people, ideas, and institutions in which I had trusted. In what could I place my trust, if anything?

Living with a word for a year is a dangerous proposition. Sometimes the words is a lover you never wanted who won't leave. Sometimes it is a small, dark room; sometimes, a doorway opening toward light. Sometimes it is a warm quilt to wrap around your shoulders; sometimes, a voice calling you out into the cold.

The practice is simply to hold the word, to let it open over time. Look up its etymology. Use your body to make its letters, letting the movement and sounds lead you to more words, more openings. (Trust, truth, river, unyielding, seldom, treasure; Trust, try, rise, understand, speak, toward). Write it, draw it, sculpt it out of clay, or snow.

Living with a word means we must confront its opposite. When my word was open, I learned to be attentive to when and how my heart closes up. When my word was wait, I learned to be attentive to how I hurried, and why, and at what cost.

In this year of meditating on the word trust, I had to come face to face with small and large betrayals. Slowly, I am integrating those betrayals into my soul, learning to fix them with an open, loving gaze rather than pushing them away, pretending they didn’t happen, or dwelling on them with resentment and anger.

This year, I had to answer the question, In what do I place my trust?

During the season of Advent and Christmas, I'll be reflecting on this question in brief lyric and reflective pieces. I would love to have you accompany me as I take you through a shortened version of the journey this year's word has opened for me.