A word of comfort

Here in this Advent space, I am breathing in the words of God. They are rising in my soul like yeasted bread waiting to bake – slowly, steadily, subtly.

I hope, my friends, that you are also finding peace and comfort in the days and nights of this season.

Is there a word that speaks deeper than this:
“Comfort, O comfort my people”?
And this word from the mouth of the God who shepherds us,
who made us His people.
Cry to us, breathe on us, God.
Lift up the valleys of our hearts;
feed our needs as though we are gentle sheep,
unable to make our own way,
unable to carry our own weight.
When you speak “comfort,”
let it be our restoration, our re-building, our upholding.
Show us your steadfast love, God,
in the way the snow falls and quiets the world,
in the way the sunlight filters down through barren branches,
in the way hand-to-hand touch of love quickens our heartbeats.
Speak peace, God, to us your people.
And we will be silent –
we who wait on you;
we who know your stillness as we know our own palms;
we who remember you in your ways;
we, the sheep of your pasture.

Spend some time this week with the Psalms and Isaiah readings of Advent — Psalm 80 and 85; Isaiah 40:1-11 and 64:1-9 — and let me know what words and images stand out to you. How do these passages speak to your waiting heart?

Attending to stillness

Be still, and know that I am God.
Psalm 46:10

The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to keep still.
Exodus 14:14

Too busy to wait

We’re not even a week into Advent, and I’ve already stopped waiting.

Of course, I have all kinds of excuses… I’m really busy. I work a lot of hours at an exhausting job that involves being active all day with elementary school kids. I have a lot of regular commitments that take up my weeknights. I get up early to run a few mornings a week. Holiday parties and to-dos have filled my schedule this month.

My life is full of all kinds of good things.

But this week, as I ran from one appointment to another, I found myself hurrying, rushing. It wasn’t just that my schedule was busy — my heart was busy.

And it felt completely un-Advent.

Sure, I went to late-night church services, I prayed in the mornings, and I spent time in the Word. I opened the little windows on my Advent calendar.

But the space of my heart sanctuary didn’t feel expectant or patient, the way a waiting heart should feel. It felt chaotic and distracted.

Reminders of the season

As I’ve been reflecting on my hurried heart, I’ve been reminded of these verses from the Isaiah reading from last Sunday:

From ages past no one has heard, no ear has perceived,
no eye has seen any God besides you,
who works for those who wait for him.
You meet those who gladly do right,
those who remember you in your ways.
Isaiah 64:4-5

Advent is a reminder of these important lessons.

Our good and gracious God is working for us, we have only to wait for him. God is fighting for us, we have only to be still in trust.

We have only to quiet our hearts amidst the hectic comings and goings of life to remember God’s ways, to know God’s character, and God will meet us there.

What a beautiful promise.

Only one week in to this season of Advent, I am already grateful for that reminder.

What is it like to wait on God: A Reflection on Isaiah 64:1-9

What is it like to wait on God?

It is like being water over the fire, waiting to boil,
waiting to feel movement rise from deep within yourself,
to change your very nature,
to transform you into something else,
to create energy where none was before.

It is like waiting for the earth beneath to quake,
the looming mountains to tremble –
unexpected and yet awaited –
with the awesome power of one word.
The violence may last but a moment, or an hour,
and still its force will be enough to alter creation.

It is like being a leaf in the autumn,
clinging to the last warmth of summer,
waiting for your own strength to fade and let go.
It may come at any moment, that release.
Perhaps the wind’s timing will be precise enough
to carry you to another place.
Or perhaps, your journey will be short, gentle, and downward.

It is like feeling yourself clay in the hands of the potter
– soft, supple, and warm.
You know not how you will be shaped,
only that the change is occurring.
You know not how you will be used,
only that it will be according to the potter’s will.
You know not how to spin the wheel, to mold and form the shapes.
That is for a Master crafter to know and carry out.
All you have to do is feel the hands upon you
and recognize that you are art; you are joy.