Advent begins not with noise, but with a whisper.
A single word rises in the stillness—a word gentle enough to steady the heart, yet strong enough to reorient a life: Truly.
So much around us feels uncertain, shifting like shadows in early dawn. But truly is the breath that cuts through the haze. It is the soul’s instinct that something real, something trustworthy, is drawing near.
Advent invites us to pause and ask:
What is truly shaping me?
What is truly mine to carry?
What is truly of God?
When Jesus speaks, He often begins with this word—“Truly, I tell you…”
It is not a command; it is an invitation. A soft turning of our face toward his. A reminder that God’s truth is not distant or theoretical. It is the warm breath of God in a manger, the quiet fidelity of love that will not let us go.
Advent truth is not shouted. It arrives like light slipping under a door.
The prophets didn’t say, “Perhaps light will come.” They said, “A light has shone.” Truth spoken in the future tense, already pulsing with certainty.
In our waiting—whatever it looks like this year—God whispers the ancient promise again:
Truly, I am coming.
Truly, I am with you even now.
It is the shepherd’s gasp beneath a sky ripped open with song. It is the quiet recognition of a tired traveler beholding unexpected kindness. It is the awe that rises in us when grace catches us off guard.
To say truly is to acknowledge that holiness has touched something ordinary— and left it shimmering.
Inner Altar 