Advent is one of my favorite times of the year. It represents a time of waiting and anticipation. Which, feels like a lot of life. When I was young I couldn't wait to grow up. When I grew up I couldn't wait to get a job. When I was single I couldn't wait to get married. And on and on.
Advent resonates with my heart. Of constantly feeling like I'm in a season of anticipation.
This morning, our pastor talked about a child-life faith as compared to a mature faith. The world teaches us that maturity is what we should aim for. But there is a reason we are called to come to Christ as children. When did I stop gasping in wonder and start scoffing in doubt? When did my spirit become edged in hardness and not soft and moldable?
I found myself staring at the flicking candles in the Advent wreath this morning. This morning, the last purple candle was lit. It stood tall next to the other ones which had burned lower. It is the candle of peace. Peace in the waiting. Peace in the anticipation.
When I get home from church today, I will water the three plants that mark the three months of waiting in our adoption process. A violet sits in the bathroom. I recently pruned the yellowed leaves and dead flowers this week, and the new leaves sit tight and bright green. Waiting for new blossoms.
On the dining room table is the philodendron. It appears healthy and is growing over the sides of the pot it sits in. New leaves grow, splitting from delicate green stalks.
And on the ledge is our newest plant, a Christmas cactus. Some say it's a symbol of maternal love -- strong even in harsh conditions. Others believe its blossoms represent faith. But I picked it out because I needed something sturdy yet unpredictable. It's called a Christmas cactus, but really, it blooms when it's ready. Maybe on Christmas. Maybe not.
I don't know if we will still be anticipating and longing next Advent. I don't know when our cactus will bloom. I do know that I must train my heart to see the wonder. To be curious.
To gasp in wonder.
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