"Mommy, I'm ready."
On tiptoes, with arms stretched over head, fingers that can barely reach the countertop are searching for the plate he knows is there. Two-year-olds. Heaven help us.
At least three times a day I reminded Oliver that waiting patiently means having a quiet voice and a calm heart. At least three times a day we talk about patience meaning 'what I want will happen very soon.' At least three times a day I coach him to remind his heart that "I can wait."
What he doesn't know; what I haven't told him, is that he needs to settle in and get good and comfortable. This is only the beginning of waiting.
We are days away from the season of Advent coming to a close (Ok, so maybe I began this post a few weeks ago... and am just now sitting down to complete my thought, because mom life.) This season where we remember the ancient waiting. All the longing, all the aching, all the deep and heavy sighing satisfied the moment Mary bore down and delivered her first born, God's first born, into a weary world.
We are days away, and I'm caught up with thoughts of the waiting running through my head.
Every valley shall be raised up,
every mountain and hill made low;
the rough ground shall become level,
the rugged places a plain.
And the glory of the Lord will be revealed,
and all people will see it together.
For the mouth of the Lord has spoken
- Isaiah 40:4-5
Sometimes I can really feel it, like REALLY feel it. My skin pricks at the whisper of that ancient waiting. The desperate impatience for redemption to come sweeping in, all full of life and hope and victory. All full of the promises that had been handed down generation after generation. Waiting for the valleys to be filled. For the high places to be flattened. For all uneasy, unsteady, unsafe ground to be smoothed. For the very glory of the Lord to be seen and celebrated.
Generations and generations of waiting.
And then, suddenly, there he was. All pink and new. All of God tucked into humanity.
Here we are generations and generations later. After the baby who was God lived and died and lived again. The baby who grew into a man and gave us a new promise.
And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”
As believers we hold fast, and by that I mean, WE HOLD FAST and remember this promise. There will be a day when God will dwell among us and with us. He will wipe away each tear and erase the old order of things. These things that weigh us down and break our backs and leave us longing and aching and sighing.
We are waiting.
We are standing with the heroes of our faith and we are waiting. With Abraham and Sarah. With Joseph. With Moses and Aaron. With Joshua and Caleb. We are waiting.
"For in just a little while, He who is coming will come and will not delay.
He is coming, with healing in His wings.
He is coming, with all His glory.
And we will see it.
And our hearts will melt.
I'm remembering with you today, that all this waiting is headed somewhere.
And it feels so good, and so sweet, and so painful all at the same time.
It's hard to wait.