Every camellia bush bursts forth with buds, waiting to blossom.
Deep under the earth, roots hold seeds and bulbs secure, waiting for Spring’s arrival.
Dragon-breath exhales hang in the air as I release my breath at first light. The cold air declares winter is here. The buds on the dogwood say a new season will follow soon.
“The created world itself can hardly wait for what’s coming next.” – Romans 8:18
Even as I savor the delight of frost on the front lawn, no humidity in the air, and the blessed lack of no-see-ums and mosquitoes, I long for hot pink azaleas, yellow forsythia, and the fragrant aroma of purpled wisteria. Winter’s dark cold will give way to Spring’s light warmth.
The created world can hardly wait for what’s next, and neither can I.
Yet waiting is, well, hard. It’s long. It’s boring. It’s tedious. It’s frustrating. It ripples through me, wondering why the clock ticks so slowly. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I’m sure you’ve waited for something. What was it that found you holding your breath? Found you counting down time? What arrival, still out on the horizon, beckoned you onward then?
How did you wait?
What happened in your body as you waited? How was the jumble of time and space caught in your throat, your shoulders, your gut?
What emotions ebbed and flowed as the tides shifted from this moment to the one in the future? How did you hold feelings about what it would take to go from here to there?
So often, in the waiting, it feels like I’m wasting time. I’m not tuned in to the moment. It’s as if I’m trying to skip ahead in the line, to avoid the drawn-out sense of limbo and scurry on along into the moment ahead. It’s not fun to wait.
In a sense, all waiting is a bit of suffering. It’s not getting what we want when we want it.
The Tension of Waiting—Longing, Lament, and Being Enlarged
This Advent, I’m pondering more about waiting, about anticipation, about hope. I am also deepening my exploration of suffering and lament in this time of waiting.
How can waiting be a gift? A place of wonder? A pause in the pandemonium of living on this planet?
I’m intrigued by Eugene Peterson’s words in The Message in Romans 8:
“We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.”
Advent invites us to wait. Yet somehow, in the waiting, we, who can’t grasp what’s enlarging us, can be somehow enlarged. Growing larger, fuller, brings delight as we anticipate what lies ahead.
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- What would it be like to be expanded into more fullness in the season of Advent, a season themed by waiting?
- What would you like to experience as you wait on the King to arrive?
- What would you like to explore in the slow drip of weeks before we celebrate the wonder of Christ’s birth again?
Advent is about time travel.
Advent visits the past: when Christ came to earth as a baby born in Bethlehem.
Advent visits the here and now: noticing how Christ is here in the room.
Advent visits the future: when Christ shall come again, and the complete restoration of earth and our hearts will be the reality as we feast in His very presence.
Advent provides space to wait, to slow down, to attend, and to pay attention. It says, “Pause. Hold your horses. Hang on. Anticipate. Linger.” It invites us to prepare for what’s coming by embracing these four weeks of waiting. What would it be like to luxuriate in waiting?
The Everyday Aisles That Teach Us Presence
What happens to you when you have to wait for something?
I quickly pass the time waiting, often wasting it. In the doctor’s office, I usually give in to the temptation of my phone, scrolling the minutes away. In line at the grocery store, I tend to stare off into space or jump ahead to the next task on my to-do list. At the stoplight, I’m making a new list of the next twenty-two things to do. Does anyone else do the same?
Zipping into a big box store for a simple errand, clerks directed us to the far northwest corner of the gigantic store, only to realize we were misdirected. We should have gone to the near southeast corner. Ugh.
People of all ages hurried along, here and there. Parents corralled children eager to see what the toy aisle held. They whined, demanding the current most desired item on the ever-changing list of wished-for gifts. Frazzled buyers sought the last three things on their list. Hurry filled the air.
As we turned the corner into one aisle, a distracted mother scanned the shelves for item number 412 on her list. One child wiggled and screeched in the back of her cart, while the child in the front seat looked me straight in the eye.
“Hello! Happy hello! How are you today?”
I careened to a halt. When was the last time a young child, maybe five or six years old, started a conversation with me, a stranger?
“Hi. How are you today?” I echoed back.
“I have new pigtails today. I’m happy,” she chortled back at me.
“I like them.”
She played with those pigtails, smiling as she ran her fingers through them.
“You’re cute,” she said to me.
I laughed, shaking my head in amazement. I can’t remember the last time a child called me cute. Come on. I’m a 72-year-old, turning 73 in just a few weeks.
She did a little dance in her seat, a wiggle of joy, just as her mom scooted one way, and I scooted the other.
That one encounter shifted my mood. Suddenly, presence seemed far more important than the elusive aisle with the yet more elusive items to be ticked off my list.
I slowed down. Rather than rushing, I took my time. I looked people in the eye, nodding, greeting, smiling.
The contagion of joy lifted corners of weariness in the faces I beheld.
The worker, kneeling to fill the bottom shelves, sighed, signaling her tiredness. Her rounded shoulders showed the weight of work during the holiday season. People grabbed things as quickly as she placed them on the shelf.
“Thanks for restocking those shelves.” She looked startled to be noticed.
My husband and I ambled along, grinning at workers and those caught up in the headlights of the endless flow of lists upon lists.
The Joy of Being Watched and Waited For
I engaged in small talk about the sudden blast of cold weather, the hovering holidays, and the upcoming afternoon football game that dominates the calendar in the South at this time of year. Who are you cheering for, and who do you think will win?
Finally, after a trek much longer than expected, we found one of the last items on our list, then turned around to backtrack to pick up the final item and stand in the long lines at the registers.
Turning the corner again, there’s little Miss Pig-tailed Joy, literally bouncing up and down again when her eyes meet mine.
“Oh, it’s you,” she squealed.
Her mom stops what she’s doing and looks up to see who her daughter is talking to.
“Oh, she’s been watching for you, hoping she’d see you again. Every aisle she scanned, expecting to find you once more.”
“I’ve been waiting for you. I love you,” this happy child sings, her eyes bright with joy.
I’m stunned. Someone delighted in the waiting, in the watching, for me, a stranger? Whoa. Wow. What a surprising, joyful thought.
Our encounter was again so brief. The little girl waved goodbye as her mom continued their shopping trip, ticking things off her list.
Just before they turned into another long, crowded aisle, this young child stretched out her hands, pointed at me, blew me ten kisses, and waved as if her arms might suddenly take flight.
Oh. What a wonder, to be watched and waited for. My heart took flight at such delight.
Watchmen of the Dawn: Waiting with Holy Expectancy
Here in Advent, I have often focused on the long, hard wait during the four weeks before Christ’s birth. Yet in this unexpected encounter, I suddenly realized that my waiting delights the One I wait for.
An unknown child in a big box store opened my eyes to experience what it’s like to be watched and waited for, to be desired and enjoyed, to be a focus of hope.
What must it be like for Jesus to see how we watch and wait for Him? How we hope to see Him, here in the dark, in the long hard of waiting for the dawn to break? How does His heart soar when He sees us scanning every aisle for His presence?
Advent invites us to slow down, savor, and reflect. It’s a time to stay alert with anticipation. It’s a season that delights Jesus as we remember His birth, look forward to and prepare for His future return, and remain present with Him right here, right now.
Advent encourages us to imitate the psalmist in Psalm 130. Like the watchman who labors in the dark to stay lively, we wait with longing and hope—waiting, waiting, waiting even more than that watchman waited for the good, the gloriousness of the breaking of the dawn.
Watchmen wait with vigilant alertness, scanning the aisles of the dark night to see what is real and what is absent, and what is ever longed for. We, too, are watchers who peer through the darkness. We accompany our souls’ longings to gaze upon the One we long to see. We are watching for His dawn light of love, restoration, beauty, and wonder. We are watching for the face of our beloved Jesus.
Blooming Through the Waiting: Becoming Enlarged with Hope
Hope sustains the watchmen because they remember the past: that dawn always comes, and light always dispels darkness. It’s a good reminder that the long, hard period of darkness and waiting will one day end, bringing rest, relief, and rejoicing.
Here in Advent, we are waiting for the King to arrive. Are we ready? How are we preparing to greet Him? Advent finds me recalling unexpected times I’ve encountered Him and how those experiences have expanded me, increased my joy, and deepened my worship.
In Advent, we are waiting to say to Jesus, “I’ve been searching for You, hoping to see You. And now, having seen You, I am just so happy to be here with You. I love You.”
It’s waving my arms in joy and blowing Him ten thousand kisses, ready to behold Him with joy at every turn.
In the waiting, I still need to figure out how to endure the chaos of crowded aisles in my life. What needs decluttering so I can focus more solidly on Jesus?
In the waiting, I still wonder with the psalmists who cry out: “How long, O Lord, how long?” The darkness wants to kill hope. The wait wants to dump doubt upon us by the dozens. What needs to be fought against to steady my heart? What needs to be lamented due to deep loss, yet what also secures the anchor of hope?
What if we went into Advent scanning to behold Him at every turn of the day, in the crowded aisles where the mundane finds us sighing loudly from the weight of the work we offer each day?
What if we watched for Him, as the watchmen wait for the morning, remembering the past truth of dawns, straining forward to the end of the long night of waiting?
What if we watched for Jesus to come with holy joy?
How can our waiting with abundant hope and overflowing longing be a gift to Jesus in the time of Advent?
How can I joyfully wait for the One who is also ever scanning the horizon waiting for me?
What happens when He hears my shouts of love?
I imagine my longing for Him and His longing for me are vast, open places of joy, even during a season, a world, filled with the ache of the not-yet.
Let us shift our perspective and consider what it might be like for Jesus, for He beholds us watching and waiting, and in that, we bring Him delight. He is the one who enjoyed bringing heaven to earth so that we might find our way back to His heart. Let’s wait with wonder, slow pondering, and vast anticipation.
The buds on the camellia bush wait to burst forth with pink, red, rose, and white, yet they need a bit more time before they bloom. The dark will give way to more light. The cold will give way to more warmth. The buds will enlarge, and enlarge, and enlarge as they wait. Then one day soon, but not today, they will bloom. Even so, I scan the yard, anticipating the beauty and wonder still to come.
May Advent, where we wait for Christ now and yet again, find us all enlarged in the waiting, dressed afresh with hope and joy, even in the long, dark, hard of waiting. Let’s count down the days, saying often to Jesus, “I’m watching for You. I’m preparing for You. I love You.”
More Resources for Your Advent
- Who Do You Say I Am? Advent Visio Divina reflection cards (also available as a PDF)
- Wait and Imagine, a Visio Divina for journaling and prayer during Advent
- Advent’s Slow Invitation blog
If you are interested in learning more, I’d love to work with you. I offer spiritual direction and the spiritual exercise of St. Ignatius as a way for you to care for your soul and your life with God. Learn more about me and request a free conversation to learn on my website.
