For the first time in what feels like months, I find myself
sitting in a quiet house with only the cooing of little Dominic to keep me
distracted. His belly is full and he has (finally) decided to sit in his bouncy
seat for more than a few seconds. Normally, he prefers I wear him in a baby
carrier but now that he is three months old, I am trying to coax him towards a
little more independence. He is unsure about being emancipated from the Moby
wrap at the moment, and his dark brown eyes are tugging at my heart as he
whittles away at my willpower and anxiously waits for me to release him from
his shackles.
The rest of the family is off to find a Christmas tree. Having learned from experience that tree
lots do not always provide trees up until Christmas Eve, we’ve tried to be
proactive this year and get one while there are still a few trees on the lot to
choose from. If we are so lucky, we’ll stash the tree in the garage in a pail
of water until just a day or two before Christmas, so as not to interrupt Advent
more than necessary.
Yesterday was our coldest day of the season thus far, but
today began even colder. My morning run was brutal, at least by southeast
Kentucky standards, and I labored to breathe twenty-degree air. Still, I’ll
take that over the wildfire smoke that dominated the morning air here during
the previous two months. Raking up the leaves around our cedar-siding home took
on a sense of urgency this year, and as we watched the images of wildfires
being fought by our Tennessee neighbors, we knew that we could be next. But
then the rains came just after Thanksgiving, as they always do, and in just a
few days, the long fire season that started before summer even ended was over.
The air cleared and the leaves fell. Despite what the calendar may have said, autumn
was over.
And now we sit next to the woodstove, counting down the days
‘til Christmas. St. Nicholas made his arrival here this week, and left two
little boys new shoes and too much chocolate. After-supper prayers before the
Advent wreath are becoming our new ritual and by the time Christmas is here,
will finally be a habit, only to be put away again until next year. Perhaps next year, the boys will take as
much pleasure out of listening to the prayers they now do blowing out the candles, but
I doubt it.
Dominic, of course, is our joy this season. Every moment
with him makes our hearts fill with gratitude. “Waiting for a baby” is the Advent theme that we lived every day for
years. Now, to no longer be waiting for another baby, feels like a foreign
state-of-mind. On many days, my life feels like it should belong to somebody
else. A mother of three children?
Unfathomable ten years ago. And yet, here I am. Being their mother is my
greatest testament to what it means to wait. The possible that came from the impossible.
Yesterday, we heard through the grapevine that a couple we
know who has been childless and waiting to adopt for many, many years was unexpectedly placed with a baby through adoption. We met this couple nearly three
years ago, and at that time, they’d already been waiting to adopt for well over
a year. This past summer, they were matched with a newborn but the birthmother
chose to parent and their hearts were again shattered. Now, this year, their Advent
is truly about an Arrival. Their lives from this point forward will look nothing like
their past. Had they given up on the wait, they would have missed the Arrival.
And I suppose that is the real point of Advent. The Advent
season is about waiting and preparing, yes, but more than that, it’s about
having faith in the Arrival. That regardless of what shape or form or end our
waiting takes, it does always, eventually, inevitably, come to an end. And when
it does, regardless of whether our dream has come true or not, we can at least
count on the arrival of something new. A new beginning. An Advent to the rest of our life. And if we
have trusted in God’s providence and timing, it very well could be a life worth
waiting for, even if it is not the one we thought we'd ever have.