We are coming through this period of Advent, this period of waiting, of traffic at the mall, credit cards posed; overwhelmed with the love we have for our friends and families, yet still feeling everything we have to give is inadequate.
Even in the midst of our loving family we can feel alone. We miss the ones who are not here, wondering how Christmas can still be Christmas without them, We wonder how we will make it through the trials ahead’: January and February loom long, dark and cold.
But along with the fear, there is a branch of hope. We are incurably wounded and grieving, our heads in our hands, yet still peering through our fingers at the late rising sun on an unimaginably cold morning.
And then, quite unexpectedly, we hear the birthday songs of the new baby, this child whom we approach with tenderness and wonder. We see our own children light up with simple joy, and we remember what it’s like to be light again. We feel the stirring of green shoots in our own hearts, straining toward the faint light of a candle, the rose gold beams of the dawning sun. And we thank you for the fact that no victories are ever won except by this slow tender growth, this steady sun, your immutable gaze, your compassionate forgiveness, daily bread. And we see that you have patiently waited for us all our lives.
So today, we will wait for you.