The art of waiting nicely

My daughter is four years old, and I find it to be a magical age.  She is so full of wonder, curiosity, excitement, creativity, and unending cuteness.  One thing that seems to keep me grounded and well aware that she is a pint sized human and not the embodiment of perfection is her blatant lack of patience … a concept that she can’t quite seem to grasp.  I often explain to her that “patience means to wait nicely.  Do you know what waiting nicely means?”  To which she often shrugs and then asks me for the eighteenth time something like: “but when is tomorrow?”  And I answer, defeated, for the eighteenth time, “tomorrow it will be tomorrow.  It will be tomorrow after today.”

I get those questions a lot at this time of the year.  As we approach Christmas, my kids both have this extra energy about them, excited about every treat and event that foreshadows the joyous promise of Christmas morning.  I join in their childish wonder and delight in the moments when I can pause and be present with them – enjoying Christmas music and movies and cookies and decorating.   The warmth of the atmosphere and the depth of the love I have for my family is almost palpable … and yet it’s becoming increasingly clear as the years go by that this isn’t all there is.  I expect more.

We watched the old cartoon version of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” last night and although I have seen it many times before, this year a certain part really pulled at my heartstrings.  It is the scene when the Grinch is waiting on the top of a cliff with all of the presents and decorations that he has stolen from Whoville in an attempt to steal their joy.  As he watches from a distance, expecting to hear them weeping, he is baffled to hear them singing joyfully and celebrating just the same, and he realizes that though they have “nothing,” Christmas still came.

Now, I have grown up knowing that Christmas is not about the gifts and décor and I try my best to teach my children what we are actually celebrating.  We have fun with the elves on the shelf and I don’t squash my kids theories about Santa.  But we also talk about the birth of Jesus, and what an incredible gift to the world that was.  I love the Christmas story with the humble, expecting couple seeking refuge after a long journey, the presence of the manger and the animals, and the star that lit the way of the wise men by night as they searched for the infant King.  It paints a picture of all aspects of God’s creation participating in this miraculous, mysterious, event.  Call me old fashioned, but I wholeheartedly believe that unto us a Savior was born.  And because of that, we all can expect more.  We should expect more.

I have such deep gratitude for the things in my life that I have been given, most of which I had no control over,  such as my health, my family, and for all of my basic needs to have been met throughout my entire life.  And yet I often struggle with guilt – wondering why this gets to be my life experience when so many others walk a much harder road.  I was up early one morning recently to buy a Christmas gift for my daughter and as I drove in the dark to the store in my warm car, I listened to NPR on the radio.  My thoughts of how excited she would likely be to open this gift on Christmas quickly changed to sorrow and prayers as the NPR reporter talked about a bus accident that killed several young children the previous day.  My heart ached for those families, who perhaps had just purchased gifts for those children, and would now be preparing to for an impossible goodbye instead of a celebration.

I often think of those for whom this time of the year is more painful than happy.  Those who are missing loved ones, or who are struggling financially, emotionally, physically, or mentally.  And I realize that at any given moment, I might be the one facing a life-altering loss.  And yet.  Part of the magic of Christmas is that it will still come.  For those who are happy and bright and whose halls are decked and trees are trimmed, it will come.  And for those who are mourning, lonely, lacking, and feeling forgotten, Christmas will still come.

Christmas is not the promise of a warm home, a beautiful tree, or even an intact, loving family.  It’s the promise of a joy and peace that can surpass human understanding; a beauty that exists inherently in every living thing; a saving grace that is mysterious and real; a baby that was born to heal a broken world; a life-giving hope that one day all things will be restored to the way they were intended to be.  Good will triumph over evil and pain and loss will be no more.  We all hope for this.  We pay to see movies that are centered around this very theme, because deep down, I think we all know that in the end, that’s how it’s supposed to be.  And this is the more that I have come to expect.  Perhaps it is my vision of heaven.

As I experience life, this strange journey through what I believe to be God’s kingdom that is both now and not quite yet, I wait.  I try to wait nicely – being thankful for all of the good and trying my best to help those struggling to get through the hard and the bad.  And I expect that there will be much more for all of us someday.  With each Christmas that passes, my anticipation for that future of goodness and restoration grows.