I am thinking of home again,

The sweet smell of cooking,

Of the terrible jokes of my father,

The pick up game after we are filled with turkey.

I long for them all.

The mystery of love is steeped deeply in our humanity,

In the incarnation,

In the gift of life,

And how we are all made,

From a mysterious desire,

Drawing us to each other,

Connecting us with a sacred sexuality,

And a faucet of grace which cannot be turned off,

Or exhausted.

Because love prevails; yet remains a mystery.

Advent is now upon us once more. Time to Prepare.