
1 DEC
“She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”
In the stillness of Advent, when the days grow short and the world waits in hope, journaling can become a sacred way to make space—both for God and for ourselves. Each evening, I light a candle and open my journal, not to perform, but to listen.
Writing becomes a quiet conversation with my soul, a way of noticing what I might otherwise ignore. I reflect on the day just passed: what made me smile, what unsettled me, what I longed for.
I ask myself questions that open the heart gently
– What am I grateful for today?
What challenges did I face, and how did I respond? Over time, these small acts of honesty begin to shape something deeper: awareness, gratitude,
and even courage.
Journaling in Advent isn’t about perfection.
It’s about presence.
A tender, trusting way of saying to God,
“Here I am. Let it be with me according
to your word.”
Blair Matheson TSSF
Brussels European Province
SYMBOL OF WELCOME
Create a small visual symbol of welcome for Christ today. It might be a handmade nativity, a bowl of simple items that speak of your culture or story, or even a retablo-inspired image placed by your doorway or prayer space.As you do, ask yourself: If Christ were born here, in my land, my kitchen, my heart, what would that look like?Let this be your offering of welcome, both inward and outward.
“This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it. For the Most Holy Child has been given to us and has been born for us on the way; And placed in a manger because he did not have a place in the inn.”
(Vespers of the Lord’s birth. Antiphon: Holy Virgin Mary. Psalm Undated Writings of Francis of Assisi 156 )
Jesus,
you come not as a guest,
but as family,
wrapped not in linen alone,
but in our colours,
our stories, our soil.
Let my heart be
a doorway flung open,
my life a home made ready,
my hands full of
the gifts I long to offer.
In Advent, I find myself drawn to the colourful Peruvian retablos – tiny, vibrant scenes of the Holy Family nestled in Andean hills, wrapped in ponchos, surrounded by llamas.
They remind me that Christ is not only born in Bethlehem but in every land, every language, every heart open to receive him.
God comes close not as a stranger, but as one of us.
This season, I hold that truth gently: Christ is born here, too—in my culture, my home, my story.
As I wait, I open my heart like a doorway, ready to welcome the One who makes all places holy.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
Mary carries the increasing weight of sacred life.
Her body, stretched and weary, feels every breath and burden. Yet she does not carry a burden only- she carries glory.
The hidden Christ grows heavier in her womb, curling into the shelter she has made for Him. He practices breathing, swallowing, and turning, preparing for the world beyond.
Perhaps Mary feels the tension of holding both weariness and wonder. Each step toward Bethlehem presses on her back and her heart. Yet she keeps walking, trusting that she is held by the One she carries.
The womb has become a holy space of preparation, but Mary knows she cannot hold Him forever. One day, she will place Him in the arms of the world.
For now, she bears Him in love, knowing even the weight is a gift.
I wonder how Mary found rest in God while carrying so much.
I wonder how I might recognise the sacred weight of what I am called to bear.
If you keep an Advent Journal, here are some ideas you could write about;
Tonight, imagine your heart as the manger… simple, open, waiting.
Ask yourself: What straw has been laid today?
A moment of kindness? A small joy? What still feels cluttered, cold, or unready? What would it mean to say, “Let it be with me,” just as I am?
Write a short reflection: Today, I prepare the manger by…
Let this be a way of welcoming Christ not with perfection, but with presence.