While We Wait
A Poetic Reflection on Hope
In December darkness, I light the purple flame,
Like countless others before me who waited without name—
Their hopes carried forward through centuries of night,
Until one star broke through with unexpected light.
Sometimes hope feels heavy, like Mary's final mile,
Each step toward Bethlehem another leap of faith.
My grandmother taught me this: hope is not fragile,
But sturdy as the candle burning straight and still.
The world spins wild with worry, hearts grow cold,
Yet here we are again, lighting wicks of old.
One flame in darkness makes a mighty claim—
That light will come, that love knows our name.
I trace the wreath's circle, evergreen and bold,
Each Sunday adding light to stories yet untold.
Like shepherds watching ordinary midnight skies,
We wait for glory wrapped in humble disguise.
This is what hope does: it stays awake and burns,
Through longest nights and shortest days it yearns.
Not for what our eyes can touch or hold,
But for the promise ancient prophets told.
So light the candle, friend, and join the waiting throng—
Add your heart's warmth to history's hopeful song.
For Christ has come and Christ will come once more,
And hope still leads us toward that promised shore.
Steven E Fairbanks
Steven E Fairbanks
Steven E Fairbanks
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