All earth is waiting to see the Promised One, and open furrows, the sowing of our God. All the world, bound and struggling, seeks true liberty, it cries out for justice and searches for the truth.
(First verse of Toda la Tierra, by Alberto Taule)
This past Sunday, we sang “all earth is waiting” and our Advent waiting began. For me, it is often hardest to wait when I know the thing I await is close. Yesterday, for instance, I couldn’t help myself: I headed out to go cross-country skiing at Wirth park, though I knew the snow would be terrible, and that it would be perfect if I just waited until today. And indeed it was bad skiing: lots of ice, exposed concrete and gravel, even some grass sticking through the crusty snow. (Luckily, I have cheap old skis…) Last evening, I waited for a friend to come over so we could go out and get supper. The hour grew later and later. But I didn’t feel raid-the-cupboards-hungry until he walked in the door.
Waiting is a process, with different stages, and varied emotions. Of course, our experience of waiting also depends on for what we wait: a birth, a death, a homecoming, a change? For me, the waiting of Advent wraps up all of my waiting, in meaning and in hope.