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  • Linda Trott Dickman

The Advent Wreath

by Linda Trott Dickman

Along on the journey

They stand, amidst the circle of greens,

erect, cotton-wicked, silent,

lightless. In the bleak midwinter.

dependent on a child to light them.


Hope We hear of a coming Savior a voice in the wilderness, a candle is ignited. Fire dances, a star appears.


Peace Peace, be still. A child rising and falling his mother’s breath, the music.

Help this mortal flesh keep its silence

calm my soul.

Be the mist hovering above the waters

the fog crowning the pines

the snow given like wool

setting things to radiance.

Wreath, alight with glory,

a promise fulfilled

a new song, another candle.


Joy The fruit of labor, A bouncing young one. The face of a teacher holding prompt cards and singing along. Her smile lights more than the children.

The pink of an early sunset,

the stream that runs through me, bubbling

up at Your coming.

The pink candle, You are the rose.

Joy to the World.


Love Big brother fussing over his younger brothers, brand new baby sister. Making faces, weaving his arms around his sibling flock.

A daughter holding fast

to her father, the anchor.

The candles all lit

a little shorter.

The wreath united in light

evergreen, ever blazing.

The Christ Candle crowning

the star of wonder.

Wreath Lit


Darkness. The end.

A new way. Letting go.

Turning point,

beginning of lightening days.

Night lessening its sting.

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