Advent is speaking to me.
This waiting with hope.
This waiting in ache.
Still and silent, but listening.
In days past
they long-awaited the Messiah;
we long-await His return.
At times it feels too heavy to bear.
My soul thirsts and pants for the living God to come
and blanket me with His ten-times over fulness.
Like the silent, constant snow falling,
fall on me.
Cover me.
Coat me
with the everlasting love of God
while I wait.
For true salvation,
and broad in every way,
comes only from You.
I wait.
I pay attention.
I seek.
I hope.
I pine for His peace.
I wait more.
I hold on to Bonhoeffer's words,
“...the door is shut,
and can only be opened from the outside.”
Advent, though painful,
is necessary to refine and produce,
like soon-sprouting seeds,
the internal parts of me.
And one day,
in the waiting,
a light will
dawn.
The door will open.
