Because hope...advent PART ONE

Longing.
 
We all feel it.
 
It follows with us wherever we go.
 
It hangs out in the depth of our depths, where words often fail. We all long for something.
 
Sometimes we’re reminded of it when we have nagging memory of dreams, or things or circumstances that never came to be–something that failed to come into being.
 
The longing–
it appears out of nowhere; it is a thought, a deep cutting feeling that nudges at our silence and waits for the answer to come.
 
Let’s face it; we all find ourselves wanting for something to change, to move, to be different, to heal, to be restored, and we find ourselves longing for life to be a little better, a little more meaningful, and for things to work with a little more grease and a little less of the intangible.
 
Whether it’s injustice, our relationships, our jobs, our success, youth, our homes, our cars, our grades, our friends, our pocketbooks, our dreams, or even hopes for our kids to turn out all right, we still long for all kinds of things.
 
We find ourselves rating them in the mental tally of our minds, when situations feel fearful, unfixable, uncontrollable, broken, dead, or returned to us utterly unfulfilling and empty.
 
These thoughts come to us in the strangest of moments. They come and pull at the frayed edges of our mental sweaters when we are otherwise consumed with managing life as we know it.
 
Longing.
 
There it sits.
 
It resides next to the parts of life we’d rather cut from the “subtext” of our daily lives and nestles up close to our loss, regret, disappointment, failure, and fear. It creeps into the unknown, and attaches itself to our deep wounds. It reminds us about our scarred and often failing humanity. The less hopeful version of us that we know so well.
 
Our longing bears the same weighty-ache that the earth was carrying on the night that “Hope” dropped down from the heaven-lies.
 
And like our weary hearts, the earth was cold, numb, and waiting for Jesus to come and breathe life into the foggy, chilly night air of a weary world.
 
And then, the Christ entered in and brought respite, reminding us that we are not left with the crumbs of our loss, and failure and longing.
The breath. It came and made an invitation to our deeper invitational belonging.
 
Christ came for us.
 
And with His breath came the beating inhale and exhale hope.
 
He still comes to us each day, in the mundane moments, where we wait and hope for a shift to crack the hardened parts of our hearts that have huddled in bunkers of self-protection. He comes when our souls ache and our hearts break and we wait for clouds to part and light to enter in.
 
The invitation comes in every single moment and pursues us, always and always. He is right there, with us and in us.
 
He pursues us again and again even as we wade through the mire of our souls groaning.
 
He is the reminder that we are not alone. We belong.
 
God with us.

Come, Lord Jesus, be our hope.
 
“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us).” Matthew 1:23
 
“It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.” Deuteronomy 31:8