Tomorrow is the first Sunday of Advent. Once again Christmas is coming. Over the years I’ve experienced incredible changes in my feelings about both Advent and Christmas. Looking back, these changes mirror my process of spiritual maturation and my inevitable shifts in understanding over time.

As a child I loved many things about the holidays. There were parties at school and church, and making treats like sugar cookies in the shapes of angels and Santa, and fudge and divinity.

Even more special were our treks down Highway US 218 to pick up my grandparents with all their exciting bundles, and our 11 p.m. Christmas Eve service where everybody received a small white candle to be lit at the end when we sang “Silent Night.” I remember so vividly the glorious moment when the flame from the Christ candle up front was passed to several of the small candles, the lights were turned off, and row after row of tiny flames flitted from candle to candle in the big semicircles of pews.

After the singing died away, we left the church in silence because once again, as had happened each year for almost two millennia, the Christ Child was seeking to be born among us.

Quiet, everyone. Can you hear the lowing of the cattle in the manger? Are those the choirs of angels, the heavenly host, tuning up to sing praises to God’s tiny son?

These mystical, entrancing moments have stayed with me all my life. They tapped into my strain of mystical Christianity, the part of me that really does hear the angels’ tuning up and the infant Jesus nuzzling for His mother’s milk. They submerged but never left me during all the years I turned away from the church with its joys and problems.

As a young mother, I went overboard on Christmas. I wanted our children to have all the traditions I did, and all the presents I could possibly manage.

Lowell says, “As the level of the packages rose, so did the level of acid in my stomach. I couldn’t argue with a lot of what you bought. It was educational and all, but too much.”

Yes, definitely too much. And yet I loved every minute of preparations, the shopping, the wrapping, the baking and cooking, even the cleaning so the house sparkled.

When the children were older, I’d had it. My mystical sense of the Christ Child’s coming and choirs of angels deserted me. Christmas was mostly chores.

By then I was returning to the church. Slowly, slowly, I learned of Advent. Light and mystery came back and again everything changed.

Advent is my best season, my time to soul-search; anticipate; actively wait in prayer, meditation and study; explore new depths of love.

Christmas is when we pause to notice that hope and light indeed have entered our world. Advent is our blessed four weeks to prepare our hearts to receive God’s Holy Child. Let us await Him with joy, peace and love for all.

Joan Uda is a retired United Methodist minister living in Lewis and Clark County. Contact her at joanuda@yahoo.com or P.O. Box 1065, E. Helena, MT 59635. Her books are available at area bookstores.