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by Sarah Parsons
WHEN I WAS LITTLE, my sister and I lay awake on Christmas Eve. We were listening for reindeer on the roof. We thought we heard them, and in the morning, we saw something that looked very much like hoof prints on the bit of roof we could see from our window. Downstairs, just as predicted, we found the gifts left for us. And the cookies we had put out were gone! This clinched it. Santa had been in our living room.
When I think back on it now, the sweetest part of that experience was the time I spent lying next to my sister, listening. We listened attentively, with all the alertness we could muster. We listened with yearning, focused by the certainty that the anticipated arrival was going to happen. Hearing it was just a matter of being awake. An extraordinary event was set to transpire that very night on our very roof.
Sometimes I can recapture that kind of eager anticipation, but many times, when something totally new is going to happen, I am scared. But what if, like a child waits for Santa Claus, I waited for God in utter certainty? That's exactly what Advent is supposed to feel like. We know what's coming. And if we know, why wouldn't the waiting be the fun part?
As adults, we are also promised Christmas gifts, gifts suitable to grownups -- rescue, peace, kindness, love, and healing. We know that they're coming, and if we believe in them with utter certainty, we can't help but lay awake waiting for the magic to happen. I want to recapture that kind of eager childlike anticipation. We are meant to await the kingdom of God with breathless, bug-eyed excitement. Something great is coming, and if we focus on the promises, we will naturally get too excited to fall asleep.
As human beings, we will always be anticipating. Advent simply intensifies this anticipatory condition. And Advent says: You can enjoy your time of anticipation; you can enjoy being human, living in human time, not having all the answers, and looking forward. This is possible because God is most certainly coming. The outcome is sure, and it is good.
Sarah Parsons is a Social Worker and author of the Upper Room book A Clearing Season: Reflections for Lent.
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