Advent. The Coming….

Waiting. Expectant. I’ve known how that feels. Twice now we’ve done it – watched my belly swell, gotten excited to put hands on moving bumps, to feel the kicks and see the images on the tiny screen, all grainy and black-and-white. That slow nurturing, that quiet, building murmur of excitement and anticipation. Of knowing that something is about to change – new life bursting forth – something is growing, plotting it’s own path now. It has begun.

And for that young girl who nurtured the God-baby in her flesh? Did she feel it too? As she journeyed through the night to a place unknown – no friends, no family to be close, throw her baby showers, deliver casseroles to the freezer to see her through those first sleep-deprived days. Did she feel it? That not only would her baby rock her world – as all babies do – but change the course of all history? Did she feel it in the waiting too? The heaviness of anticipation – excitement mixed with trepidation, fear even. Would it be alright? Would the baby be healthy? Would she be the mother she strained, longed to be?

The waiting.

The Coming.

What happens there is what really changes us.

This year – this advent – I want to wait better. It’s a skill I freely admit I am poor at. I am a much better do-er than wait-er. But – there is something special in the waiting. The longing-for. The eager anticipation. You see – you don’t wait for something you don’t want. You don’t wait for something that you don’t eagerly desire. Why would you? And I guess that is the key.

To eagerly desire the coming – the advent – of the newborn King.