It is such a difficult, yet breath-taking place to be... in that place of hopeful anticipation. Knowing that there are struggles ahead, yet, something great is coming! Our Doctor-Deacon preached a sermon around the concept of challenging anticipation and being patient as we wait for the Christ child; the example he used was his son. Sitting on mall-Santa's lap, the son asked for specific Christmas gifts and was quite put off when the mall-Santa did not give him what he asked for. And as the child's parents, they were left trying to explain to him that he would need to wait another three weeks for this incredible present he dreamed of.
While it brings a smile to my face to think of the conversation as it would have unfolded, I cannot help but feel like the child in so many ways. For just like the child in Doctor-Deacon's sermon, I too am keenly waiting for requests to come to fruition and journeys to end in rejoicing celebrations.
Here I am, trying to push the journeys along... I am keenly doing the work that I need to do (some days, "keen" isn't the correct term) and holding up my duties and responsibilities, but it doesn't seem to impact the speed at which we head to the finish line.
Take for example, a holiday road trip. If one is driving across prairie land, the road is usually straight and paved, well lit and fairly light in traffic. It would seem to the driver, this is when they can push the speed limit a little, and reach the next pit stop/destination before dark. Radically differs from the road trip through a mountain village where the roads are cross-backs, wildlife are everywhere, and one cannot see around the corner ahead.
I am presently in that place where I have the road map and I know how to get from where I am, to our next destination, implying that the road is straight, dry, and fairly free of traffic or obstructions. And yet, my car seems to have an override on it that is not allowing me to hurry it along, to push the limit a little bit, or even a lot.
It's hard to be patient. It's incredibly challenging to "wait it out" and enjoy the journey. Just like the child, I want the end to come and I want it to come now.
I started to ponder why this was the case... and I think I have figured it out! In my case... at least.
There is an insane fear of failure... that the longer this journey continues on, the increased chance there is that I will ultimately fail. I will undoubtedly get lost (road map or not), run out of gas, decide that I am not ready for the destination, or worse, that I need to turn the car around and head 100 miles an hour in the other direction because I am not ready for change. A fear that I will let someone down, if not more than one someone, the destination is not all it is cracked up to be and the grass really isn't any greener, or that all this investment or travelling will be for nothing. And a fear that if I fail, I shall never be successful.
With the church journey through Advent, it's easy. We know, by repetition of history for the last 2000 years, the Christ child will come... unless the Mayans are right and the world ends first this year. That in some three-odd weeks, we will get all fancied up, have a grand feast with family and then head to a crowded church, among strangers who only come once a year, and all together, welcome this infant Christ into the world, the church, and our lives.
But in our own journeys, this sense of assurance isn't there. We don't know how or when the paths to healing and right relationships will happen... we cannot anticipate when we will once again be "whole" and embracing greatness. If we knew it would happen at midnight on December 24th, that might make it less fearful. And so instead of having a finite time to "grin and bear it", we charge forward - sometimes aimlessly - toward a finish line, trusting that when we are there, we will know.
We cling to the sense of hope felt in this time of year, that just as sure as the winter bears snow and Christmas, the Christ child, we too - will successfully reach the end... whole, healed, and most importantly, hopeful.
