I’m sitting in a coffee shop. I’m sitting by the window, watching fluffy, beautiful lake effect snow hit the ground. It’s a Tuesday afternoon, and most of the world is working. I sit and my heart is quiet. As I open my journal and Bible, my mind and heart hum in the recognition of God’s nearness in these moments. In these seasons of waiting, in this season of advent, I am reminded of the gift of the quiet.
If you know me, you know busyness has always been my preference. I love my days filled with nature, people, training, work. I love the early hours of the morning, my head hitting the pillow exhausted at night. Relaxing and being still have always been more challenging for me. For the last year and a half, I’ve worked as a nurse. I work overnights from 7p to 7a. This schedule and disrupted rhythm have been teaching me a lot about the quiet. Suddenly, there is much time during the day that my friends and family are working. I often find myself up in the middle of the night while the world is asleep trying to flip sleep schedules. And it’s there I’ve begun to discover the rich mystery of silence. I’ve been challenged by this silence. In the beginning, I hated this silence. But in this dysrhythm, God is grounding me in something deeper than busyness and time. In learning to enjoy stillness, aloneness, solo hikes, bike rides around the lakeshore, writing sessions in the middle of the night—a different perspective and speed has come upon me richly. His love and the mystery of this life is grounding me into a deeper being. Transitioning out of nursing school and college swimming, this new season of being a nurse felt quite uneventful, unexpecting. In the beginning I always felt as if I was waiting for my next move, people to get off work, normalcy as I’d always known it. But as time goes on, and the struggling became an acceptance, each moment seems to be more of a gift. There’s beauty in the waiting, beauty in the stillness, and the most beauty in simply being. Being with self, being with God, being with those you love, being in nature. As being became more of the focus, the beauty of the spirit and waiting gained rich purpose.
With about eight months before launch, I stand in anticipation of World Race. I am most parts elated—to be able to share the good news of Jesus, to learn from many peoples and culture, to see the world. I am rejoicing over the opportunity to further the journey to deeper trust and love. While I am most parts elated, I am some parts fearful and questioning. I stand here begging deeper trust. The unanswered questions circle at times. I stand the wake of wondering what these countries [Spain, Morocco, Jordan, Israel, Cyprus, Georgia, Armenia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Mongolia, China], these people, this year might hold.
There are infinitely more unknowns than knowns. In the year away, but also in the preparations. The unknown in life always begs either our control or our trust. What will it be like to leave the country for a year? How will funds come in? How does God want me to go about fundraising? Who does God want to be for me in this season that He’s never been for me before? Who am I to be in this season that I’ve never been before?
I know in my heart that accepting God as trustworthy, in control and good is far more important than trying to answer all my questions and doubts. I recognize my heart’s cry for those who are hurting and stand in need of truth, of love, of help. I recognize my own cry and need. I stand a servant in need of a Savior, too. And so He is here.
In this advent season, I cherish this waiting more than I have before. This season post-college has been full of discovery, healing and deeper appreciation for the life I’ve been given. As I think about the gift of Jesus’ arrival on earth, the gift of love and the opportunity to spend the holidays with those I love the most, my heart sings. My heart is redeemed in His life and from His coming. And as I wait for Christmas, I celebrate because He is already here, exuding our beings to become more alive in Him.
I sit here, knowing the waiting is valuable. I cannot know the mystery of it in full. Maybe waiting is for discovery. Maybe, simply, we are supposed to reflect on the past, revel in the present and ponder what’s coming. Maybe when we finally allow ourselves to slow down, we realize how close God is. He asks us to be still and know He is God. When I do so, I realize just how present His invitation to intimacy is. In a busy world, it is so good to slow down.
So, let us approach Christmas with a sacred hush. Not hurried, not too busied; but pondering, waiting and learning to see with the eyes of our heart that Christ has come and Christ is coming. In waiting, we have to choose to surrender control of all we wait for, of all we desire. We must trust Him with what we need; if we want to wait well, at least. And with the open hands of surrender, God returns to us so many unexpected gifts—the mystery of our existence, the mystery of His blessings, the mystery of His goodness and sovereignty, the mystery of His gracious provision. In the quiet, His love shines through. There is much more celebration in the journey than our cultures approves. If we celebrate the journey, we await love, and yet love is already here.
So here, sitting at the window of the local coffee shop on a snowy Tuesday afternoon, my heart smiles as the season continues on. In the questions, in the blessings, in the unfulfilled desires, in the healing, in the brokenness, in the unknowns—God is and will always be good. To wait in the mystery and power of His presence in the in-between, I’m learning, is enough.
‘The Lord is coming, always coming. When you have ears to heart and eyes to see, you will recognize him at any moment of your life. Life is advent; life is recognizing the coming of the Lord’ (Henri Nouwen)
