It’s Friday night. All is silent. All is bright. Sitting in my yoga pants on my couch with the hubbie, football for background noise. The kids are sleeping, the kitchen’s clean, and no one has to set an alarm to get up in the morning. After a long, busy December week, there’s nothing better than this quiet night at home.

The thing about quiet nights in December is that you really, really appreciate them. As the frenzy cranks up notch after notch, these little pockets of silence become all the more precious. During this time of year, I have to find these little pockets. I need them to sort out the mass of paperwork in my head, the tangle of thoughts that start with what to get my mom for Christmas and end with me cleaning out the fridge. So much to do. So many people to think of. All the expectations to fulfill, the hopes to make happen. The everyday hustle and bustle covered in tangles of light strings and travel plans and precious family memories to make.

It’s the physical act of putting up trees, driving to stores, and coordinating events…but it’s all the emotions, too. As a mother and a wife, a friend and daughter and church member, I feel the emotional weight of tending my children’s tender hopes for Christmas, creating quiet spaces for them to rest, staying on the same page as my husband, supporting friendships, nurturing connections, and reaching out to those in need. Oh, and I’d like to have a few sweet Christmas-y memories and some fun, too.

Christmas is just such a big thing now. Almost a monster. It just keeps getting bigger and louder, too. So much so, that it’s hard to hear the silent night. It’s hard to feel the all is calm. It’s hard to cut through the trimmings and trappings and expectations and exhaustion to see the holy infant, so tender, so mild.

I’ve been coming down with a cold all week, not getting as much done as I need to, but it’s been the best thing. I’ve slowed down, made some choices, been forced to put down my expectations. Which is good. I have been forced to lay it all (expectations, to-do lists, and fear of not being enough) at the manger.

At first glance, laying my mess at Jesus’ manger does not seem like an appropriate gift. But, this gift of burdens, is actually a beautiful present for my King.

Lord, take my fear. Lord, here is my worry. Jesus, I’m giving you my hopelessness. Here is the problem I’ve been trying to work out on my own. Son of God, take these worldly expectations. Take my pride. Take it all, Jesus. It’s for you.

When I bring the gift of my burdens to Jesus, I am also giving him something else: my whole heart. God has always, always wanted his children to give him their burdens and fears and worries, the crippling idea that we have to do it all ourselves, and the pride that leads to hopelessness. He wants us to realize that in exchange for all this, he gives us peace, hope, joy, and a quiet, focused heart.

So let’s lay it down at the manger. Let’s bring him the gift of our burdens. And let’s sleep in that heavenly peace.

My daughter got in trouble tonight for yelling at her brother in the middle of bedtime devotion.

We had a little discussion, and then I told her to get into bed while I tucked in Ezra. Even though we talked it out and I had assured her of forgiveness, I could hear her weeping great dramatic sobs as I sang Ezra “Joy to the World” and gave him his good night cuddle.

Part of this drama, I knew, was because it’s Thursday night. And Thursday night around here is never pretty, because Campbell is dog-tired by Thursday night. When she gets tired, well, she’s like me: over-emotional and overwhelmed. Really, the only thing people like Campbell and I can do at this point is to tuck ourselves into bed and wait for morning.

But the other source of all this emotion is because Campbell has a tender conscience. Since she was very small, getting her to recognize her sin and to apologize is usually simple. Convincing her that all is forgiven and that she can move forward is sometimes a challenge.

After Ezra was tucked in, I made my way to Campbell’s room, where sobs and muffled groans and sad shudders were still coming from a big lump of blankets on Campbell’s bed. When I pulled back the comforter to reveal her matted hair and flushed face, I assured her, “Campbell it’s okay. I know you are sorry, and you are forgiven.”

To which she replied with renewed sobs, “I’m just not meant for this world, Mom.”

I knew exactly what she meant. I totally related. There are times when this life feels so terribly wrong. When I’m battling sin, disappointed with myself, or haunted by my mistakes, I’m ready to crawl out of my skin. When I hear more bad news, see those I love hurt, and watch the news, I’m terrified and I want out. As the world erupts in earthquakes and wars and famines and hate and riots on a regular basis, the world feels so foreign and scary to me.

This bedtime moment was such a wonderful opportunity to gather my daughter up in my arms and tell her that I totally agreed. We’re not meant for this world.

I’ve been thinking about this fact a lot lately, because it gives me comfort. In the midst of pain and frustration, in the midst of tragedy and defeat, it is the explanation. It is a truth as solid and firm as can be. This world ain’t it, my friend. Things here don’t make sense, because this world is a ruined place. It’s broken beyond repair. Its guarantees are pain and heartbreak and death. Jesus confirmed this when he walked on earth and said, “In the world you will have trouble.”

He told us where we do belong: heaven. A free gift through faith in him as Savior. This world ain’t it. Heaven is. All of this around us, everything that feels so wrong and foreign, is not our home.  All the times we cry out “I’m just not meant for this world,” we are speaking the truth. We are meant for heaven.

So while we walk on earth, while we are down here waiting for Jesus to come, don’t let your hearts be troubled. Don’t lose hope. This is all temporary, a short 70-80 year trip in the span of eternity. This isn’t all there is for us. We are meant for heaven, and when we get there, it’ll feel so right.

I won’t let my son open his Christmas presents, and it’s really chapping his hiney.

He knows they are in the house, because he’s seen the packages arrive on the doorstep from Amazon. He knows they are here, hidden just out of his five-year-old reach. The thought that he could be enjoying those gifts right now is maddening to him. He doesn’t care that opening them now would mean no presents on Christmas morning. He just wants the presents, and finds it absolutely ridiculous to have to wait to open a gift for the sake of a holiday. (We went through the same thing with his birthday presents).

My daughter, on the other hand, understands the meaning of anticipation. The counting down, the mystery of the hidden gifts, the savoring of the season…she’s old enough to understand that part of the fun is in the expectation of it all. The waiting, the hoping, the daydreaming about the feeling of opening those presents makes the enjoyment last for a month, not just the mad minute of unwrapping.

Advent is all about waiting. The whole Old Testament, from Eve to Elizabeth, is about the Jewish people waiting for the Messiah. It’s all about their hope, their expectation, their anticipation of the Savior who would bring light to the darkness, freedom to the prisoners, joy to the despairing.

Come to think of it, the whole New Testament is about waiting, too. After Jesus ascended into heaven, we’ve all been waiting for him to come back, to bring us from this dark world to the light of heaven.

So to sum things up, throughout the history of the world there have been maybe 33 years where we haven’t been waiting for Jesus: the 33 years he spent on earth. But can we even count those years? Even when he was here, most of the world didn’t recognize him as the promised Messiah.

When I think about how my children wait, long, pine, and beg for Christmas, it reminds me that I’m waiting, too. Their fervor for Christmas is a beautiful, in-my-face picture of what we’re all doing year-round. Being a believer means I’m a wait-er. Just like all the believers in the Bible, I’m constantly waiting for Jesus to come. I’m from a long, ancient line of waiters. It’s what we do this side of heaven.

So what do I do while I’m waiting? First, I remember that I’m waiting, because when I do it gives me perspective. This world isn’t the point, and that changes my attitude about a lot of things. Second, I remember that I’m waiting for a good reason. God put me here to be a waiter. There’s a reason for my existence at this time and at this place. He’s working it out for my good. And finally, God is making me wait here so that I can tell other people about him and his love.

Both of my children are excellent waiters, even if their styles are completely different. One is focused and unwavering, the other is hopeful and excited. I want all of those qualities when I’m waiting for Jesus. I want to wait with all the tenacity of my son, who constantly thinks about those Christmas gifts just beyond reach. I want to wait with joyful expectation like my daughter, who patiently trusts my promise to deliver the gifts Christmas morning.

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that^h the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, whoⁱ have been called according to his purpose.” -Romans 8:22-28

My pastor said something that caught me off guard on Sunday. It was the first Sunday of Advent, and he was covering the usual bases about preparing to meet Jesus, because that’s what Advent means: Jesus is coming. He said that the best way to prepare to meet Jesus is to make sure you are nurturing your faith so that it is growing.

And then he said the thing that caught me off guard. He said that “a growing faith is a growing awareness of God in your life.”

I sat back in my pew for a minute. I had never heard the concept of faith put quite that way. That word, “awareness,” well, to be honest, it sounded pretty New Age-y and borderline woo-woo for my conservative Protestant ears. But it sure got me thinking about what it means to be “aware” of God.

I’m aware that he exists. I see evidence of a higher power all around me, in the beautiful order of nature, in the power of the hurricane, the beauty of a sunset, the miracle of new life. But I’m also aware of God because of the fear in my heart that wonders about all the wrong I’ve done. I’ve become aware of God through his Word, which describes him as not only powerful, but just and perfect.

And then I’ve learned that God isn’t just this all-powerful, demanding being. The Bible speaks of God as love. In a story almost too good to be true, the Bible describes in detail that Jesus came to die for me, that he took away all my sins. Because of what he did, the Bible says that heaven is mine.

My awareness of God has grown the more I learn about Him. Throughout my life, parents and friends and pastors have guided me deeper into his Word. They have used the Word to show me that Jesus listens to me, that the Holy Spirit guides my life, that the Father works out all things for my best, no matter what that best may be.

The more I read about God, the more aware I am of him in my life. As I’m reminded of God’s love, I see God not just as Almighty or Judge or Father or Savior, but as Friend, the one who’s always with me, walking right next to me, living in my heart.

The more and more aware I am of Jesus, the more and more real he becomes. And that’s faith, right? Not just being aware that God exists or judges right and wrong or listens, but that he loves and that he is present, that I have a real, tangible relationship with Him…Immanuel…the Word made Flesh. I am certain of his presence, I am aware of what is just beyond my sight.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”

When I see Jesus for the first time with my own eyes, I want to recognize him. I know that I will, because I believe in him. But when he comes again, will that first glance be complete shock or will it simply be picking up the conversation we had the night before, as old, familiar friends?

“Faith comes from hearing the message and the message is heard through the word of Christ.”

The washer and dryer are humming across the house, in the laundry room off our kitchen. My Christmas tree sparkles in the corner of the living room, done up in navy blue and gold this year. As I look out my office window, I see the twinkle lights hung in our backyard. Upstairs, under my bed, the pile of purchased gifts is growing by the day. My Christmas cards are in the mail, making their way across the country. I will get them soon and will spend a couple hours tracking down addresses of friends who’ve moved this year, carefully printing their names on clean white envelopes with a fine-tipped marker. The Advent by Candlelight program is written for another year, and I’ve practiced for the church service I play for on the 14th. The plane tickets are bought, as are the gloves and hats and sweaters that we’ll wear for the time we spend in Wisconsin each year. My freezer is full of food to take us to the end of the month. The Advent calendar is hung.

I’d like to say that I’m ahead of the game, but I’m not. I’ve just barely starting thinking about preparing my heart. Although outwardly I’m ready, inwardly…well, that’s another story.

Two years ago I wrote a blog called A Different December. Every day from December 1st to December 25th, I wrote one post a day in preparation for Christmas. I want to do it again this year.

I know myself. I get so wrapped up in the decorating and the parties, the to-do lists and the shopping. I love getting ready for Christmas. It’s so much fun! It’s cozy! The looks on my kids faces! The joy of seeing family I haven’t seen for months! Winter break! Sometimes I sense myself loving all this stuff more than the baby in the manger. It’s difficult to admit that, but I know at times, it’s simply true.

I’m clearing a slot, and I’m lighting a candle. It’s time to prepare for my King, beginning with a prayer I prayed two years ago today:

Dear Savior,

As I enter a new Christmas season, I ask you to be with me. I am sorry for getting so wrapped up in the craziness and materialism of this time that I forget to prepare my heart for your coming. You came to save me from this crazed world, my sin, and the grasp of Satan. Since you came and died for me, I no longer live under these threats. I live as your child. Please help me to prepare my heart to receive you, my King. Thank you for your amazing love.

In Your Name, Amen.