A few days ago we started celebrating Advent. My family did this every year when I was growing up; complete with candles and hymns & weekly themes. It’s a tradition I love. We do it a little more casually in our house. We usually read a few verses about Jesus’ coming and then talk about them over breakfast.
Our Advent readings (also this blog post) kept drawing me back to the prophets of the Old Testament. They prayed to be delivered from their enemies; even preached about God’s goodness; they prophesied again and again that the Savior would indeed come… But they never saw him.
They waited and trusted, while their deep desires remained unmet.
There is no way of denying that this has been a tough year for our family. Probably the toughest one we’ve faced. I have wrestled with sin that I never dreamed I would see in myself; I’ve asked “Why, God?” countless times; I have even wondered if my prayers were getting intentionally ignored. There have been times this year that I even wondered if it would be better for me to not pray for something, since the things I prayed for kept getting “bad” results.
But there is comfort here. Well… okay, not here.
“Here” there is pain.
But we can identify with the prophets of the Old Testament, because we are still waiting. Our hearts, we all know it, are lacking something, are breaking for something. We’re always needing something… We’re waiting and yearning for something; even when we’re not sure for what.
Waiting for something that wont break.
Something that wont die.
Something that wont hurt us.
Something we can depend on.
We’re waiting for Jesus.
We use this Advent season to focus our broken hearts on the day when He will come again, and make all things right. When we will be with him, and not afraid of the next horrible thing that may (or may not) happen to us. We wait for Jesus to wrap us in his embrace and say, “It is finished.”
We believe, like the prophets, that this day will come. That Jesus will come.
And He will.