Today marks the beginning of Advent. The season where we look for and wait on the coming Messiah.
It’s a season of expectancy.
Much of my faith journey has been marked by seasons of waiting. A long season of wandering and wondering. But God waited for me to come home; his kindness drew me back to Him.
Seasons where I waited for healing. For motherhood. For restoration. Where I waited for Him to move.
Sometimes I think it would be nice if “faith” were some box I could just check off; a to-do on my long list that I could actually complete and be done with. But there is no finish line for faith. Yes, we are saved once and done, but faith is alive. It lives and breathes and grows. We live it out every day, even if the only thing we could muster that day is wondering if He’s still there.
There are times when I feel so far away from Him; so consumed in the daily minutia of living my life. Overextended, overstressed. Exhausted by working and parenting two littles and drowning in the 21st century curse of Too Much Stuff.
But Jesus came not to just save me from hell and from death, but to save me from myself. From my pride. From my self-centeredness. From my weakness. From my stonewalled heart that tries to protect itself at all cost.
He came, He came. He stepped into this mucky world, and He came not as a warrior on a steed or a King on a throne, but as the weakest, most helpless version of us. He came as a baby who grew into a man so that He could live the life I cannot live. So that He could walk with us and talk with us and show us how to love Him and how to love one another.
Because left on my own, what good am I to anyone? Left on my own, I’m not a good wife. I hold grudges and forgive slowly. I expect to be served, but not to serve. Left on my own, I am not a good mom. I get exasperated and short tempered.
I am a slave to the ugliest sides of myself. I needed to be set free, not just once, but every day. Sometimes every minute.
So come Jesus, come. We are expecting you.