Today is the third Sunday of Advent. I remember when all the candles were purple. Now three are blue and one is pink. Pink is for the third Sunday, or Mary Sunday.

We read a lot of annunciation scriptures and sing a lot of Magnificats. Odd because if you count back nine months, the annunciation should have occurred in March.

I laughed very inappropriately in front of every annunciation painting and mosaic I saw on my travels. Mary is consistently depicted as a serene, fair-skinned young girl, richly dressed, usually reading, being impregnated by a bolt of light to her head, streaming from a dove. She doesn’t even flinch. At the very least, she would have been momentarily terrified.

Then there is the business about everyone somehow getting the taxation mandate that he had to get back to his hometown to register. Apparently, Joseph’s hood was Bethlehem. It wasn’t Mary’s. Besides which, who goes anywhere with a woman who is about to give birth? Surely she would have been left in the loving care of the womenfolk of her family.

What can we believe about this? What even matters?

What I know for sure is that every year at this time, during these short days and long dark nights, my “heart” always feels different. A little happier. Hopeful. Joyful.

I especially remember all the things my mother did to make this a magical time for me. I remember decorating lots of Christmas trees with her. One year, I wanted an all blue and silver tree, and she made that happen. One year there were those bubbly tree lights. One year we whipped up melted wax in her mixer to make snow to decorate home-made candles. She helped me buy and wrap lots of little presents for all my cousins and friends. She let me help her make lots of candy. She sat at the piano where we played and sang carols. I know all the words to every one. They sing in my head every December.

Mary is sometimes thought of as the perfect mother. Pure, beautiful, submissive. I don’t know about any of that or if it even matters. She wasn’t a role model for my mother or for me.

What truths can we take from the ancient stories of the annunciation or the birth in Bethlehem?

I’ll just go with the special feeling I have in my heart every year.