A Season of Advent in January

I’ve been chewing on a thought lately. I’m not sure what it means or even the point of it. It’s like flavorless gum that I should spit out, but I just can’t. I can’t shake the thought, so I guess I’ll be camping out with it for awhile.

I’m in the midst of a process, actually several, and my desire for a finish line and perfection, has me questioning why processes exist. At the risk of sounding like a microwave Christian, I would much rather have something instantly, than wait for it. But it turns out food taste better cooked in an oven than a microwave. 

I don’t know why God designed life with processes. It took God seven days to create the Universe. He could have literally said “Let it be exactly as I want it to be.” Done. Pat yourself on the back, and go enjoy seven days of rest, Lord. But for some reason he didn’t do it like how I would have done it. Mary was pregnant for 9 months before she gave birth to Jesus. He was on Earth, but not quite. Then he lived for thirty years before he even started his ministry. As someone who is often described as “protective of my time” it sounds like thirty years wasted on wandering, waiting, and not yets.

I’m not sure what the point of going through a process is. But I what I have realized is you can’t have hope without a process. They exist together. And if faith, hope, and love exist, then so will processes. 

My favorite day of the year is December 24th. It’s the climax of the whole Christmas season; we’ve been celebrating for weeks, and the biggest celebration is just hours away. It’s most hopeful day of the year, full of anticipation and expectation.

The thing about hope is that it’s always expectant. The good is here, but the best is coming. And if you aren’t expectantly hoping for the best, you’re going to miss it and settle for less. Isn’t that what Advent is all about? You have the good now. Jesus has come, and the best is yet to come when he returns. But, we celebrate. We rejoice in the not yet and not quite, because our hope is an anchor that doesn’t move, and we were made to live in that hope. 

My problem is that I’ve been waiting to celebrate. I look at my less than perfect and not finished yet, and I think it’s staying this way. I can tell you how beautiful growth and improvement are, but my functional belief is it’s not worth celebrating until it’s finished. So instead I shift my gaze. I realize that everything was actually finished over 2000 years ago, and I’m just waiting for the final celebration. Practically, it means celebrating growth, any amount of growth, and realizing that every process I’m in is a chance for my hope to grow more expectant.