Keep Looking Up

Once again we find ourselves in the season of Advent. Within the Christian tradition, this signifies a time of anticipation where the challenge to find meaning in the act of waiting and reflection are ultimately healed by hope personified; the birth of Christ. From a liturgical and historical perspective, the act of waiting is secularly supported by the fact that December 25 is indeed Christmas day. Christmas trees, holiday tunes and twinkling lights provide the assurance that Christmas is coming. Advent gives official status to this time of waiting and anticipating, and for those who have Advent calendars and candles to mark the march towards Christmas, hope is alive.

I don’t mean to squelch the flow of Advent’s rhythm, but real life waiting and hoping seems far and away from simply turning the calendar each day in December. Often, waiting is hard and is seldom soothed by twinkling lights and various versions of “The Christmas Song. Underneath waiting is often worry, and worry is defined by the unknown. The mind can become consumed by “what if’s,” and those worst case scenarios tend to bully rational thought.

I think about the times of waiting that stretch our capacity to remain centered and calm. I’m quite certain all of us can recount a time when waiting threatens the gift of ordinary time. In an instant, “then” defined by routine and familiar is hijacked by “now” where life takes a turn and nothing feels sure. None of us are immune to the continuum of experience. The space between cancer treatments traverse a whole world of what it means to feel good. Grieving a lost loved one, every day, poses a different challenge to navigate loneliness and the longing to hear that voice just one more time. Waiting for a military homecoming, waiting for a positive pregnancy test, or waiting for the answer to prayer can be grueling.

Probably there are many of you who join me in wishing we could simply make struggles disappear into the starry skies. Although I have no good justification as to why life can be so hard, I do think Advent reminds to keep looking up, moving beneath the blanket of stars for reassurance that we are not alone. Looking up, in general, is a good exercise; yet there is something about the star light which is soothing. Think about it, one of Earth’s closest star neighbor is Sirius, and it takes 4 years for Sirius’ shine to reach those of us who happen to glance up to the night sky. 4 years! And the light of other more far-away stars pierce the abyss of darkness for 7,000 years so that we can be inspired by its surety. Talk about waiting….

In a perfect world, waiting and navigating the unknown are encapsulated in a timely bubble, just like the season of Advent where anticipation is met with a glorious resolution embodied by the hope of a child. But those in the trenches know it doesn’t always happen that way, especially when reality thunder bolts us to an alternate path where life feels hard. Magic words of comfort or resolution are elusive. All I can remind myself is to keep looking up. The stars provide a bold example of resilience. The example of resolve to pierce light into the abyss of the unknown should encourage all of us to keep moving through the gift of their light.

I don’t know much for sure, but I do know illumination makes the dark much more manageable and may even provide hope, even in flickers. So, for today, I wish the light of faraway stars find your waiting heart.