Romans 8:18-21, 23-25 What we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later… With eager hope the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay… We too wait with eager hope for the day when God will give us our full rights as his adopted children, including the new bodies he has promised us… If we already have something, we don’t need to hope for it. But if we look forward to something we don’t yet have, we must wait patiently and confidently.

The second candle on our Advent wreath represents hope. What are you looking forward to today?

In the Waiting Room: Zebras Karis age 3 ½, Detroit

The room was crowded; it would be a long wait. Karis greeted the other children and played with a few toys but soon, exhausted, she settled in the chair beside me. Her small body looked like one of those photos of starving children in Africa, enormous belly, spindly arms and legs.

“What are you reading, Mama? Can you read it to me?” It was Psalm 96.

Let the heavens be glad, and the earth rejoice!

Let the sea and everything in it shout his praise!

Let the fields and their crops burst out with joy!

Let the trees of the forest rustle with praise before the Lord,

For he—

“You forgot the zebras, Mama,” Karis interrupted, gazing at the border of wild animals brightening the walls. “The zebras are praising God too. See how they’re dancing? Read it again. I’m sure the zebras are in there.”

I read it again. No zebras.

“Mama, it’s OK. I know you’re tired. You’ll read it better another day.”

Dr. P’s nurse entertained Karis while he talked with me. “The only thing I can think of is another surgery, but frankly, I don’t know how it will help.”

I said no. My husband said, “We have to do something.” Our church agreed with him. Karis was hospitalized for several weeks in the hope of making her stronger so she could tolerate major surgery.When the OR attendant came to fetch her from the holding area, Karis pulled my head down and whispered, “Mama, don’t be afraid. The zebras are still dancing.”

Galatians 5:5 But we who live by the Spirit eagerly wait to receive by faith the righteousness God has promised to us.

I used this Scripture on April 11 of this year, commenting on one of our waiting room experiences, and find myself drawn to it again as we enter Advent, the season when we practice active waiting. Waiting to celebrate the mystery of Jesus’ Incarnation. And waiting for the glory of his return as King, to rule in justice and love.

This year there’s an added edge to our waiting as we grieve over the impact of raging coronavirus and political, social, and economic distress. In light of this, Elise Massa, leader of Arts and Worship in our church, invited artists to create meditation pieces with the them of “The Waiting Room.” You can see this beautiful collection of original visual art, poetry, and music here:

As a part of this project, Elise invited me to reflect on my waiting room experiences with Karis. The result is a set of vignettes, which I will publish here weekly in connection with themes associated with the candles in our Advent wreath. I hope they will encourage you to look for Jesus in your own circumstances, for Immanuel, God with us, never leaves us, no matter how lonely, frustrated, anxious, or sad we feel. As we wait for him, he waits with us. I pray you will be able to see him with you, as he showed himself to be with me in some of the toughest times of my life with Karis.

The first Advent theme is Faith. Karis age three weeks, Chicago

The phone jarred me awake. Dr. R spoke without preamble. “I don’t like the way Karis looks this morning. I don’t think she’ll make it unless I operate right away. I need your verbal consent, and hospital policy requires you be in the surgical waiting room.”

Frozen by fear, I stared at the phone until my almost-two-year-old son stirred and whimpered in the crib across the room. Hastily, I packed a bag with his clothes and breakfast and carried him in his pajamas down the block and across the street from the Ronald McDonald House to the children’s hospital. My husband was in Bolivia, friends and nearest family over an hour away.

The waiting room was empty, but soon other parents trickled in. Caring for Danny’s needs kept me focused until he fell asleep again in my lap. Then worry swamped me.

A man approached. “Debbie? My name is Harold. I’m a friend of your husband’s, here from Florida for a pastors’ conference.”

How did Harold find me? I have no idea. His concern triggered a flood of tears. I told him what the doctor had said. Then, hesitantly, I admitted, “I don’t know where God has gone. I can’t find him. I think I’m losing my faith.” He looked at me without censure, without judgment. Just these gentle words:

“Then, it’s time for the Body of Christ to have faith for you.”