It’s the beginning of Advent and we confess our anxiety.
Hope seems to have thin reins this year.
We want this season to be different, simple, meaningful.
But we have our doubts.
Though we admit we don’t yet feel joy or gladness, we refuse to shake the I told you so at our own soul.
Like Your people did for 400 years of silence, we wait.
We obey the calendar and wait, not with tapping foot and huffy breath. But we wait with open hands and willing hearts to experience the truth of the gospel in our everyday lives.
We will fight this year – not for meaning, for magic, for perfection, or even for simplicity.
Rather we will fight to remember You have come, You are here, and You will come again.
May we hear Your silence as kind company rather than as rejection.
May we see our sorrow, our grief, and our difficulties as they are without trying to extract meaning or closure before their time has come.
May we give sadness room to breathe even as we wait for the joy to come.
The world was broken and You could have sent a doctor, a soldier, or a king.
Instead, You sent a baby. You arrived small. You looked different than we thought You should look.
But still, You came!
Help us to remember that in Your kingdom, the answers we think we want don’t always show up in ways we expect.
Like the shepherds who followed a star to a stable, may we be willing to believe the unbelievable.
May we remember who we are in Your presence.
Our Doctor, our Soldier, our King came disguised as a baby.
May we behold the mystery of Your birth with resurrection eyes.
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