Lea “El tiempo es un regalo en el Adviento” por Kristina Diaz en Español.
by Kristina Diaz
Time is a gift we all need, and Advent, like Lent, is a time of year that invites us to take our time to slow down. The air is filled with anticipation as we count the days until Christmas. A little magic can be found when wandering around neighborhoods to see the lights. Markets and city centers are adorned with symbols of the season and music on the radio shifts, as people joke about Mariah Carey coming out of hibernation. In Puerto Rico, we break out the Caribbean carols; kitchens take on a list of delicious recipes that require love and care to manifest a string of dishes infused with coconut milk, plantains, cassava, and roasted pork to name a few flavors of the season.
I never understood these things as preparation but as ritual and tradition surrounded by gifts, especially when we had an advent calendar at home—the kind that had little pieces of chocolate behind each door. Each piece of chocolate was a prize at the end of the day. Advent calendars often remind me of those movie montages where the main character has a goal marked on their calendars with a bright red circle.
Often surrounded by friends, they embark on a series of events that help them prepare their minds and hearts for the important event. In the process, they make sure to collect any missing pieces that are essential to their success. Outside of the glamour and whimsy of the movies, I’m left wondering how the traditions and rituals of my childhood and the ones I am building with my husband can help us prepare our hearts and minds for the season. What are the essential things needed for our well-being?
Taking time to think of how Advent could be helpful has been interesting. Loved ones have passed, while other family members have moved away. The dynamics of our relationships with those close to us are changing, adding weight to that sense of loss. We also miss our elders, and I especially miss my soul dog, Olaf, who passed away this past August. So, rather than a time of celebration, I take a step back from the boisterous expectations of the holidays and listen to what my heart needs instead.
This listening has led me to sit within the spaces of my home. Here, I practice minor rituals that connect me to memory, allowing me space to make peace and express gratitude. I choose a spot, like a closet, drawer, or room, and set a timer. The timer can be for 10 minutes or an hour. It changes based on how I am feeling at the moment or what I am juggling on my plate. Regardless, this is an opportunity to pause and focus on the chosen space and what it holds. For example, I recently pulled out everything in my guest room closet. I set aside the usual piles to donate, keep, and recycle. I set aside things I wanted to move to a different part of the house, like the bedroom sheets. And I set aside a few pieces that hold memory. Among them was a brown knit sweater with beige plastic buttons. This was my great-grandmother’s sweater. She wore it all the time in the last few years of her life. One day, she lent it to me because I was feeling cold. It’s a bit snug on me these days, but I treasure having it. Whenever I pull it out, memories of Abuela Rosa come flooding back. I can see us hanging laundry to dry in the sun; I remember her mashups of Pentecostal hymns and novela theme songs, the foam puffing out of water gallons filled with Maví fermenting in the living room. On good days, I can almost hear her laughter in my mind.
However, some areas of the house are a little more complicated than others. In a recent 10-minute timer moment, I was organizing the top area of my dresser drawer. I set aside a broach my aunt had given me that belonged to my grandmother on my father’s side. Grandma Carmen taught me how to use bobby pins, always encouraged my writing, and let my best be my best. The day I received the broach, I had asked about possibly having one of the boxes she had decorated and engraved with metal.
“There is only one left. The lady who used to clean and help with her care stole most of her jewelry and smaller trinkets.”
I cried, not because things were missing, but because they were her things. To me, this stranger had stolen a piece of her in taking them, and I had lost a part of her again.
Many of the things I have chosen to keep throughout the years all have a story. Other things come and go based on their usefulness. And still, I am grateful for every pair of shoes and that one teacup that sat just right in my hands until the day it broke. Then there are parts of the house I’m just not ready to touch, like my dear Olaf’s bowls. They are still in their spot next to our other pups’ bowls and will remain there until I am ready to move them.
Sitting with objects that hold memories can remind us of our story and bring us back to the moments and loved ones we miss. So, each time I put everything back in its place, I feel compelled to call my sisters so I can share these memories with someone who shares them, too. I find comfort in being able to talk to others who knew the person I am missing. It’s as if they are alive again, if only for the length of our conversation. But more importantly, we also share these memories with my niece and nephew so they can get to know their great-grandmothers and enter the fold of this never-ending story.
As I enter this time of Advent and organize my winter nooks, crannies, and closets, I invite you to join me in this journey of ritual memory and gratitude. As I declutter my home, I’ll also be clearing space in my mind and heart. I’ll be writing down my favorite Advent moments and reflecting on the blessings in my life. I hope you’ll do the same. And come Christmas day, I hope you’ll bring others into the fold of your story.
Kristina Diaz has enjoyed a long career as a portrait photographer that has expanded to brand consulting as well as video and podcast editing/production in the past four years. She calls Dorado, Puerto Rico, home and is currently working on her first novel and a collection of short stories. In addition to writing, she is a fifth-generation oral tradition storyteller. Kristina is a third-generation cradle Lutheran from the Caribbean synod in Region 9. She currently serves on the board of the Asociaciacion de Ministerios Latinos of the ELCA as Communications Coordinator.
Kristina: Thank you for sharing your thoughts on Advent. I lost my husband of 45 years this year and have a similar ritual. I don’t do it often; it’s too painful yet. But, I have taken some time to sit with photos and the occasional notebooks he kept. I am usually taken back to a moment I had forgotten and I sit with that then move on. It’s been said that “Grief is love with nowhere to go.” I hope, however, that I find a way to give some of that love in a different way.
Thanks for sharing! A cradle Lutheran from Puerto Rico is a good concept for a cradle Lutheran from Iowa to think about–as we consider the WELCA gathering in Des Moines only a year and a half away!