What Remains?

It is a month since the gifts were opened.  A month since our floor was littered with torn scraps of red and green paper, empty gift bags, and crumpled ribbons.  The candles of Advent are melted and misshapen. The garlands and wreaths are carefully stored away.  Our tabletop Nativity figures are ensconced in tissue and placed in boxes.  The omnipresent Holiday Hits from December’s music streaming services are (thankfully) a distant memory.

And what remains… what remains?

What remains here on my desktop (the real desktop, not the virtual one) is a tiny painting, the last of my Tender Places Advent Series. Finished a month ago and ready to be posted, the painting and its accompanying devotion awaited only a few last-minute touches. The fourth week of Advent barreled its way toward Christmas Day and… screech! My latest creative effort came to an abrupt halt.  Extra family obligations and joy-filled celebrations, LOTS of cooking, some unexpected health issues (minor), and computer glitches (not minor), with (let’s be honest here!) some procrastination thrown into the mix, impacted my plans to finish the Advent project I had so ambitiously begun in early December.  Now it was well into January.  Too late, I reasoned, much too late, to post anything Christmas-themed now. Should I just save and store these creations as I did my Christmas decorations, “unpacking” them during Advent 2025?  Could the messages of Hope, Peace and Joy have lost their relevance in the past few weeks?  Could that final portrayal of the candle, the one symbolizing Love, still have relevance now? Perhaps instead I should craft a devotion about New Year’s resolutions. Would a picture of a snowy forest or a cozy fire be more appropriate as we endure the current grip of frigid weather?

I paused and felt a little foolish for even considering tucking the picture and essay into a file and hitting the Save As button in that Folder marked Advent 2024.  If Hope is offered; if Peace prevails; if Joy bubbles; if Love encompasses, then it is surely the right time to seek and to receive these gifts. I welcome them into these January days and beyond.

Look closely at this simple painting.  The large white candle takes center stage, symbolizing both the Advent week of Love and the miracle of Christmas day.  Along the horizon, three small figures (Are they Magi?) seem to be approaching the rough buildings of a small town. The Advent wreath with its greenery and ribbon, so clearly defined in previous pictures, is now dispersed and enlarged, a fitting symbol of the spreading influence of Christmas.  Heart-shaped leaves entwine the candle’s base.  Mid-candle, a small cross presages events to come. A warm and glowing light fills the sky. This 4 -inch portrait offers mystery and humble beginnings; gifts and light; the past and the future, and above all, the present and presence of Love.

This last candle and the three that preceded it could have marked the end of Advent. In truth, they mark the continuation of a Light lit long ago. These words may be a tad late.  This art may not be amazing. This gift, however is heartfelt. Its message is evergreen. The power and endurance of Love are never meant to be stored away— not in late December, not on this January day, not ever. 

For what remains, when the gifts lie neglected, the decorations are stored, the pageants are over, and the candles are discarded?   What remains?

Now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is Love. I Corinthians 13: 15.