I have this hope (advent reflections)
I'm sitting in front of the Christmas tree, all twinkly with white lights. The stockings are hung - 3 in a row, even though only 2 of them will be filled this year. I'm breathing in this moment of peace, stillness, the silent night.
Advent is a season of waiting. We wait, with anticipation, for Christmas to arrive. We look forward with hope. I've always found advent to be a magical time of year, but this year the season is tinged with a sort of heaviness.
I shared earlier about how I wasn't going to celebrate advent this year, but how the promptings of a friend and her sharing of the beatitudes reminded me that this season is just as much for those who grieve as it is for those who rejoice.
Today i want to talk about Elizabeth. She's not who we think of when we think of the Christmas story, and yet she is one of the first characters introduced in Luke's gospel. I overlooked her story every year, thinking nothing more of her than this story line as an entry point for John the Baptist, which is the entry to the Jesus story which everyone knows is what advent is all about. But this year something drew me in to the story of Elizabeth.
She was also in a season of waiting. Waiting for the birth of Jesus, yes, but something else. Something Elizabeth and I both have in common. She was waiting for a child. She was barren, and this seemed to be what she was known for. When the angel comes to Mary later on in the book, he references Elizabeth as the barren one. Her pain, this area where it felt like God had forgotten her, this is what she was known for.
Her husband, Zechariah, returns from the temple mute, and somehow conveys to Elizabeth that his inability to speak is a sign from God that they are to have a child. We know that her pregnancy was not an immaculate conception, and so somehow in this story Elizabeth and Zechariah try again. They've been trying for years, with no children, but something about this hope rooted down deep in her soul and Elizabeth tried again. And she conceived, and gave birth to a son who they named John.
I relate to Elizabeth's story on a few levels. I understand what its like to feel like the area where God seems to have forgotten you is what you are known for. I know the pain of infertility.
I also know hope.
I've known for years that my own family wouldn't grow through traditional means. And as we begin asking questions about what it would look like to bring children into our home, it seems more and more discouraging. I have this hope for what my one day family will be like, but when that dream feels so far off its hard to keep that hope alive.
What seems so easy for so many others feels next to impossible, and things like money and paperwork and my inability to travel threatens to dims my hope.
And then there's the empty stocking. The one that represents the son who should be lighting up our days with love and laughter. There's the scars that scream of the surgery where my body failed at motherhood. In hushed conversations i overhear people introducing me as the one who lost her baby, or the one with that disease. my areas of deep pain are what i have become known for.
These advent days are filled with waiting. This year, for me, they are filled with deep grief and longing. The waiting, though, is for something. We wait but it is not without hope.
We feel the pain and the brokenness and the grief that feels like it will rip us in half, but we are not hopeless.
When the waiting for a child feels impossible, i close my eyes and breathe deep and remember the promise that was given to me, the one i trust will be fulfilled even though right now i can't see how.
When the ache for the child we never got to bring home overwhelms me, i trust in the hope that this pain is giving birth to a beautiful redemption story and that one day we will all be together again. The best kind of heaven will be holding my baby.
I have this hope as an anchor for my soul. As Elizabeth had this hope that the promises God had made to Zechariah, and to her, would come true. And she acted on that hope and tried again, and it was in that magical moment that humanity would never be the same. John the Baptist, the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, is the cousin of Jesus and makes a way for him.
Breathe. Sit in the waiting. Feel what you feel and let the emotions move through your body like water. And then remember that hope, the one that has been promised to you. and try again.
Advent is a season of waiting. We wait, with anticipation, for Christmas to arrive. We look forward with hope. I've always found advent to be a magical time of year, but this year the season is tinged with a sort of heaviness.
I shared earlier about how I wasn't going to celebrate advent this year, but how the promptings of a friend and her sharing of the beatitudes reminded me that this season is just as much for those who grieve as it is for those who rejoice.
Today i want to talk about Elizabeth. She's not who we think of when we think of the Christmas story, and yet she is one of the first characters introduced in Luke's gospel. I overlooked her story every year, thinking nothing more of her than this story line as an entry point for John the Baptist, which is the entry to the Jesus story which everyone knows is what advent is all about. But this year something drew me in to the story of Elizabeth.
She was also in a season of waiting. Waiting for the birth of Jesus, yes, but something else. Something Elizabeth and I both have in common. She was waiting for a child. She was barren, and this seemed to be what she was known for. When the angel comes to Mary later on in the book, he references Elizabeth as the barren one. Her pain, this area where it felt like God had forgotten her, this is what she was known for.
Her husband, Zechariah, returns from the temple mute, and somehow conveys to Elizabeth that his inability to speak is a sign from God that they are to have a child. We know that her pregnancy was not an immaculate conception, and so somehow in this story Elizabeth and Zechariah try again. They've been trying for years, with no children, but something about this hope rooted down deep in her soul and Elizabeth tried again. And she conceived, and gave birth to a son who they named John.
I relate to Elizabeth's story on a few levels. I understand what its like to feel like the area where God seems to have forgotten you is what you are known for. I know the pain of infertility.
I also know hope.
I've known for years that my own family wouldn't grow through traditional means. And as we begin asking questions about what it would look like to bring children into our home, it seems more and more discouraging. I have this hope for what my one day family will be like, but when that dream feels so far off its hard to keep that hope alive.
What seems so easy for so many others feels next to impossible, and things like money and paperwork and my inability to travel threatens to dims my hope.
And then there's the empty stocking. The one that represents the son who should be lighting up our days with love and laughter. There's the scars that scream of the surgery where my body failed at motherhood. In hushed conversations i overhear people introducing me as the one who lost her baby, or the one with that disease. my areas of deep pain are what i have become known for.
These advent days are filled with waiting. This year, for me, they are filled with deep grief and longing. The waiting, though, is for something. We wait but it is not without hope.
We feel the pain and the brokenness and the grief that feels like it will rip us in half, but we are not hopeless.
When the waiting for a child feels impossible, i close my eyes and breathe deep and remember the promise that was given to me, the one i trust will be fulfilled even though right now i can't see how.
When the ache for the child we never got to bring home overwhelms me, i trust in the hope that this pain is giving birth to a beautiful redemption story and that one day we will all be together again. The best kind of heaven will be holding my baby.
I have this hope as an anchor for my soul. As Elizabeth had this hope that the promises God had made to Zechariah, and to her, would come true. And she acted on that hope and tried again, and it was in that magical moment that humanity would never be the same. John the Baptist, the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, is the cousin of Jesus and makes a way for him.
Breathe. Sit in the waiting. Feel what you feel and let the emotions move through your body like water. And then remember that hope, the one that has been promised to you. and try again.
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