Collecting Sparks

Some days arrive with a kind of buoyancy, as if the world has been dusted with quiet possibilities. Not the sweeping, dramatic sort, but the gentle glimmers that wink at you from ordinary corners. A cup of tea that tastes exactly right. A conversation that lands softly. The sky doing something subtle and beautiful without announcing it.

Advent seems to sharpen our vision for these small wonders. It asks us to walk through our days with a certain alertness, as if heaven has hidden treasure in plain sight. And maybe it has.

Because the God-who-comes isn’t only found in grand revelations. Often He’s tucked into the tiny things we nearly overlook: the warmth of a familiar voice, the lift in your chest when someone smiles back, the unexpected burst of laughter that breaks through a heavy moment.

These aren’t accidents. They’re little sparks.

And when you let yourself gather them — not hoard them, just notice them — something inside begins to brighten. Not with a loud trumpet-blare of joy, but with that warm, steady sense that life is still tender at its core.

Maybe this is the invitation for today: to be a collector of small wonders.

To pause for half a second longer at something lovely.
To let delight rise without apologising for it.
To open the door a crack wider to the idea that God is already weaving goodness into your day.

Because Advent isn’t only about waiting for the Big Arrival. It’s about practising the art of noticing the quiet miracles already happening around you — tiny trails of light pointing toward the larger Light that is always, always on its way.

So walk gently today, but walk expectantly.

The world is sprinkled with wonder, and some of it has your name on it.

Watch for it.
Gather it.
Let it lift you.

There are little sparks everywhere.