#40 When waiting doesn’t end with Advent

A just-before-Christmas-comes-again reflection

I’m not sure I would ever win an award for the way I wait. 

In the McDonald’s queue, I am the epitome of the modern Western consumerist mindset, craving everything instantly. An internal, childlike fit emerges when asked to "park up for two minutes." This often leads to a monologue to whoever's with me, questioning why it's called "fast food" if there's a wait. I know you can relate. 

But waiting is a part of all significant journeys. 

In November 2019, I found myself on yet another plane, the peak of a period of travelling in and out of European countries to build relationships and minister to the next generation. This time, I visited a young man I had been discipling in Germany and participated in a Youth Event in Geissen. I had caught a cheap Ryanair flight and found myself waiting for a bus at Stansted airport to catch the last leg home. 

This particular wait was too brief for anything interesting but just lengthy enough to be noticeable. Waiting to go home after a long journey can feel excruciating. The adrenaline of the new has passed, your memories of what you have just experienced are not yet imprinted, and even on a short haul flight your body can feel exhausted.

Waiting can be a timeless timezone. 

In the waiting room, I observed people like me, all stuck in between. None seemed at home; because they weren't. No one was truly comfortable, all just watching the clock. Each person, a comma in a sentence, their story paused, events temporarily suspended. Everything moves slowly in transition. You can’t quite finish what you’ve just done, or start what you need to do next because of where you are.

Bored, I rifled through my backpack and got rid of any junk in preparation for onward travel; a plane ticket stub, a snack wrapper, an empty can of drink. I shut my eyes, entering a daydream state, hovering between wakefulness and slumber. I don’t know where it came from but suddenly I felt that still small voice of God speaking to me like a divine download. Something was happening in this moment of waiting. On my iNote I began to shape some words to express what I was feeling:

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THE WAITING ROOM

The waiting room is a place of:

1. Reflection and adjustment. A time of transition, leaving stuff behind, and getting ready for the next stage of journey (where the danger is too much introspection). 

2. Rest and recovery. Recouping and reviving (where the danger is falling asleep or losing focus on why you are there).

3. Simply waiting. A time not to escape too quickly from and end up on the wrong journey. Nor a place to wait too long in (where the danger is missing the boat).

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After pondering on this for a few moments, my bus came, and I finally got to complete my onward journey. Little did I know that I wouldn’t get on a plane again for 3 years. 

Waiting can be disruptive

To be honest I didn't think much about this until a few months later when March 2020 came around. Nowadays this date is as loaded as 9/11, instantly recognisable as a season of collective trauma more commonly know as the pandemic.

Was this when the whole world found themselves in a waiting room?

The other day, my wife Leah and I caught a TV show that featured an episode where the main characters were having flashbacks to the chaos of coronavirus. Watching was a strange mix of feeling triggering but also helpful to process some of those post-pandemic feelings that so few of us seem to create the space to do. Suddenly, we found ourselves transported back to that season of feeling surrounded by loss, mixed messages, forced compliance, mask-wearing, queuing six feet apart, watching nightly updates on the news, tending to ailing teenage minds, and trying to lead others when you could barely lead yourself.

That whole season felt comparable to being on a plane in a holding pattern, circling the airport until clearance to land was given. Except those giving the instructions didn’t seem to be in control either. Because ultimately they weren’t.

Disruption was endlessly frustrating. 

That great plan to expand your business or big plan you just made? Wait for it.

Want to go see family at Christmas? Wait for it.

Want to travel and see the world again? Wait for it.

Everything was put on pause. 

And then put on pause… again. 

This truly was a time of global transition, leaving stuff behind, and collectively trying to get ready for the next stage of an unknown journey. 

Remember all that talk about the “new normal?” The truth is that most people were desperate to get back to any sense of normality. Perhaps a deeper frustration grew because we waited for what was lost not for what might be found. Was it more nostalgia than hope?

Perhaps that’s one of the key questions to ask ourselves. What are you wanting in your waiting?

Waiting can be hard

Writing this just before Christmas, I'm aware that this topic may not seem as festive as we'd want it to. But remember, waiting is a core part of the Christmas season. Advent, from the Latin Adventus ('to come or arise'), occurs from late November until Christmas Eve. These weeks symbolise our anticipation of Christ's birth and his second coming in the future. Waiting for blessings and waiting to endure through tough times is a common thread in scripture.

Christmas reminds us that transitions in life can be marked by periods of waiting. 

As my family and I went through a huge personal transition over the last couple of years we have intentionally entered a new season of waiting which felt viscerally and habitually strange at first. It has been a form of recalibration, rest, recovery and reimagining.  A time of relearning or even unlearning has taken place. I guess it all depends what you are waiting for as to how you handle it. Rather than getting lost, or trying to go back to where we have been, we have purposefully and intentionally used that waiting for quiet growth. 

Yet this spirit of new potential has not been without the discomfort of letting go. All forms of loss are ever present in seasons of waiting, especially at Christmas. As

Leah Boden

writes in her recent substack: 

Christmas is a time when the ache of loss is keenly felt around the meal table; one less gift to pick out, one less place setting to arrange, and the absence of that grey-haired beauty, passing cash to children with a paper party hat still perched, eagerly asking about your Christmas haul. But this season isn't just about tangible voids; it stirs up memories of relationships lost, transitions stumbled through, adult children far from home, communities gone, and life's patterns turned upside down.

When we find ourselves in the messy middle; not where we were, but not yet where we will eventually be, we have to learn to embrace the power of hope. We need to recognise that whilst where there can be grief in waiting, there is hope and beauty too. Because those who understand seasons, know that there is always more going on than meets the eye. 

As the words of this song aptly titled Seasons reminds us:

If all I know of harvest

Is that it's worth my patience

Then if You're not done working

God, I'm not done waiting

'Cause You can see my promise

And even in the winter

'Cause You're the God of greatness

Even in a manger

For all I know of seasons

Is that You take Your time

You could have saved us in a second

Instead, You sent a child

Though the winter is long even richer

The harvest it brings

And though my waiting prolongs even greater

And Your promise for me like a seed

I believe that my season will come

That’s the thing about waiting rooms. You have to recognise when you are in one. And you have to judge when it's time to courageously get up, pick up your bags, and start a new journey.

And so even in Advent’s disruptiveness, I pray you won’t try to escape too quickly from where you are and end up on the wrong path. May you never be in that place where you wait so long that you lose hope. And may you know this Advent, what it is that you are really waiting for - not just the hope of a better tomorrow, but the presence of a saviour in the middle of today. 

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