Advent is calling. The Church new year begins not with resolutions and parties, but with a season of purposeful waiting. I am deeply comforted by this. O Holy Night proclaims at Christmas that a “weary world rejoices”; the implication is that Advent might find us worse for wear. Dear baby Jesus, I am weary. And I am feeling the invitation to sink deep here.

Before I can get to the celebration, the miracle of new life, there is waiting and labour, both. We moved in July, and we have now reached the messy middle of moving. Settling into the newness and missing the old. We ache for the familiarity of being seen and known, of not having to introduce and explain ourselves. We are being constantly stretched by everything being different. We are already here and we do not yet belong.

Waiting is in invitation to be where we are while we remember that the present moment is not our forever. In Advent, we do the sacred work of preparing for the one who is coming but has not yet arrived. Baking, decorating, washing sheets. Practicing thoughtfulness and generosity. Pacing ourselves so that we can spread the labour over days and weeks.

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Our culture is so placated and dulled by instant gratification that we have become very unpracticed in the art of waiting. I observe in myself a constant pull towards entitlement, impatience, and downright rejection of waiting. Needing an oil change, I drive by to see how long the wait is and then decide to do it another day instead of waiting. Calling in for customer support, I hang up when I get put on hold. Knowing that the kids will drive me crazy in line, I opt to go back when I am alone.

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It turns out waiting is practice in presence. In showing up for the imperfection of reality, we can receive gifts that we otherwise would have missed. Here in the messy middle, the kids are finding new activities and a new community in their old favourites. I am remembering that joy can coexist with grief. We are all leaning on each other a little more because we need to. There is grace in the waiting.

Each of us is also preparing for what is coming. For a future when this beautiful community and landscape will feel like home. It becomes that way when we make a play date with a new family. When we choose to go out and try something new when it would be more comfortable to stay at home. When we sink deep into the discomfort and possibility of the unfamiliar, while we wait for belonging to arrive.

The stories of the Nativity are old and familiar, and they are also ever new. Over and over again, Jesus comes into our weary world, exactly as it is. We wait at the start of the Church year, to be reminded that Jesus is coming to us again, in the flesh and mess of whatever our lives are holding right now. Over the last months, I have been working on Journey to the Nativity, an Advent video series and downloadable devotional guide that revisits the nativity story. It will be available on my website (www.leahperrault.com) for the start of Advent. The writing has been reminding me of all the ways that waiting sheds light on the stories of our lives and families. When we wait in hope, we see all the places where we need Jesus, and where He has been with us all along.

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The God of all creation, author and lover and redeemer of everything, is coming to us again. I can’t handle a surprise visit. I need a bit of time to wait and to prepare. To set down the distractions and uncurl my clenched fingers from my weariness so there will be space to hold the infant newness of the living God, delivered into my messy middle. I want to sink deep into the miracles and mess of this sacred place that is my life right now.

As we sink deep into this new year, may the Word find us waiting with anticipation for the God who waits for us.