I found Advent Sunday so magical when I was a little girl. Mom always took me shopping for a Christmas dress for that service. We usually settled on something involving red velvet or green taffeta with puffed sleeves. Mom rolled my wet hair in pink sponge rollers Saturday night so I’d look like Shirley Temple in the morning.
At the beginning of the service a child would light the advent candles. After what seemed like years of waiting and watching all my friends get their spotlight, my turn finally came. I was so nervous that I wouldn’t get the wicks to light. I shuddered imagining I’d drop my candle and burn down the church. So I spent the weekend practicing marching in rhythm while cupping my hand to guard the flame of a little white candle poked through a cardboard halo.