It always seems a bit early to begin Advent in November. But here we are, once again. Waiting.
We (singularly, collectively, culture in general) are so busy, so full of data and to do lists, that waiting is a lost art. The moment I’m stuck in line, out comes the iPhone. If I’m on hold, I answer work emails. Maybe that’s why I generally don’t bother with an iPod on walks or runs… a last bastion of in-between time that forces me to stew in my own thoughts.
Waiting makes space. It increases the likelihood that I might be still enough to hear from God instead of yet another Kohl’s ad or CNN.com.
Last night, we rearranged furniture and cleared space to make room for the Christmas tree we’ll pick out this afternoon. If we were true to tradition, we’d wait for the tree – just as we await Christmas itself – until Christmas Eve. Chop it down out in the pine forest and haul it in on a sleigh, setting it up with hot cocoa and candles to welcome the coming of the Savior that night.
But we didn’t chop down a cedar and haul it from southern Indiana, and the Georgia tree lots will be thinned out by the 24th.
So we’ll make room for Advent today.