“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.” (Matthew 11:10)

“My times are in your hands; deliver me from the hands of my enemies, from those who pursue me.” (Psalm 31:15)

My first child was overdue, about 10 days past my expected due date. Now – I had read all the books and understood what they were saying, but honestly, it was the LONGEST 10 days of my life. I wanted to meet this baby so badly, and honestly, my belly was so large and uncomfortable that I felt like I couldn’t walk, but at the same time couldn’t find a way to sit or to lie down comfortably. It was somewhat of a relief when a routine visit to my obstetrician yielded a directive for my labour to be induced. The waiting was over. The preparation was complete. It was time.

We’re deep in the waiting time of Advent. This Sunday is ‘Joy’ (Gaudete) Sunday, and it feels a little, well, hollow, right? We know the Baby is due, as are the Angels and Stars, and the Wise Men are on their route. We know that any time now Mary and Joseph will show up in Bethlehem and get stuck in a stable because there isn’t family around with a guest room. And we even know there might be a Drummer Boy or two lurking behind a donkey, ready to play in tune (that last image, just sayin’, is not in the Bible!).

But we’re stuck waiting. We’re stuck on Joy (Gaudete) Sunday, waiting.

And waiting sucks.

Because really, we are a people who want to rush to the end of the story, aren’t we? We want the Baby born, and then all of the stuff skipped over until Jesus is Resurrected and laying a place for us in heaven. We want the instant gratification, the quick fix, the fast-forward button on life’s more uncomfortable moments. We live in a world of on-demand everything, where patience is a virtue rarely practiced and often punished.

But Advent reminds us that part of life is: Waiting.

And sometimes that waiting is uncomfortable. It’s not just the physical discomfort of an overdue pregnancy, though that’s certainly a vivid example. It’s the emotional and spiritual discomfort of uncertainty, of longing, of not being in control.

We wait in line to pick up prescriptions, or wait for life-changing surgery. We wait for new life and we wait at bedsides for the end of life. We even wait for supper because sometimes we have other obligations we need to meet before we eat. We wait for test results, for job offers, for apologies, for healing. We wait for justice. We wait for peace.

Sometimes the waits are easy. Sometimes they’re painful hard. Sometimes they stretch on, seemingly without end, testing the very limits of our endurance and faith.

But that’s the life that we are called to, right? A life lived in the in-between, in the Advent of God’s unfolding story.

Matthew 11:10, quoting Malachi, speaks of a messenger sent ahead to prepare the way. This, of course, refers to John the Baptist, the ultimate Advent figure. John’s entire ministry was about preparation, about making straight paths in the wilderness for the coming of the Lord. He was the voice crying out, not for immediate gratification, but for readiness. He understood that the coming of the Messiah wasn’t just an event; it was a transformation that required a prepared heart, a changed life.

John’s message wasn’t always comfortable. It wasn’t about easy answers or skipping to the good part. It was about repentance, about turning around, about facing the wilderness within and without. And his reward for this uncomfortable truth-telling? A prison cell.

Even from prison, John sends his disciples to Jesus with a question born of waiting and uncertainty: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (Matthew 11:3). Even the messenger, the preparer of the way, found himself in a place of profound doubt and discomfort during the waiting. He, too, was waiting for the full revelation, for the clear sign that all his discomfort and sacrifice had been for the right purpose.

Jesus’ response to John’s disciples is not a rebuke, but an affirmation of the quiet, transformative work already underway: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them” (Matthew 11:4-5). It’s a list of subtle, yet profound, changes – not the dramatic, fire-and-brimstone revolution John might have expected, but a revolution nonetheless. A revolution of healing, inclusion, and hope.

Psalm 31:15, “My times are in your hands,” offers a profound counterpoint to our discomfort with waiting. It’s a declaration of trust, a surrender to divine timing and providence. It acknowledges that while we may feel stuck, anxious, or impatient, there is a larger narrative at play, guided by a loving hand.

This isn’t a passive resignation, but an active trust. It’s the kind of trust that allows us to breathe in the midst of discomfort, to find moments of grace even when the path ahead is unclear. It’s the trust that allows us to believe that even in the longest 10 days of waiting for a baby, or the most agonizing wait for a diagnosis, God is present and at work.

So, what does it mean for us to embrace this Advent of waiting, this uncomfortable in-between?

Well, we can start by admitting that its all pretty hard.  It’s okay to say, “Waiting sucks.” It’s okay to feel the anxiety, the impatience, the longing. John the Baptist, the great prophet, felt it. We are in good company.

And then, we can look for the subtle signs of God’s kingdom breaking through. Where is the good news in your own life, in your community, in the world? These small miracles are often overlooked in our rush to the grand finale.

It isn’t a passive “whatever” approach to life, though, right?  Its isn’t about just sitting on the couch feeling like you can move in all of your discomfort ;  it’s about doing what we can, with the understanding that the ultimate outcome rests with God. It’s about preparing the way in our own hearts and lives, even as we wait for God’s perfect timing.

I totally get that this is hard, and the discomfort of waiting can often push us to distract ourselves, to numb the feelings. But Advent invites us to be present in the waiting, to learn what it has to teach us.  Because, at the end of the day, the Advent season, with its emphasis on waiting, is not a detour from real life; it is real life. It’s a sacred time that mirrors our human experience of longing, expectation, and the often-uncomfortable space between promise and fulfillment. It teaches us that God is not just at the beginning or the end of the story, but intimately involved in every moment of our waiting.

So, as we continue this journey through Advent, join me in not rushing past the discomfort. Because, at the end of the day, our times are in God’s hands.

Blessings today , and remember you are loved.