I grew up in a small village in the heart of the English countryside, and I remember Christmas being such a festive time of year—both culturally and within our home. One of the traditions my mum passed on to me was the childlike delight of the Christmas season. We didn’t have a lot of resources, but somehow she and my dad always made it a time of joy. Our home was filled with decorations, delightful food, and plenty of celebratory cheer leading up to the holidays.
But it was only in my adult years that I also discovered the richness of Advent and the invitation it carries in the days leading up to Christmas. Advent is part of the historic church calendar—a rhythm of seasons that has shaped Christians for centuries. While our culture tends to rush into the indulgence and hustle of the Christmas season, Advent is a season that slows us down, asks us to wait, and trains our hearts to live in expectancy. Instead of skipping straight to celebration, Advent teaches us that the waiting itself is holy ground.
And waiting is something Zechariah and Elizabeth knew well. Four hundred years had passed since the last prophet had spoken to Israel about the coming Messiah. Generation after generation had told the stories, repeated the promises, clung to the prophecies—and still, silence. No new word. No new sign. It’s not hard to imagine how weary God’s people must have grown. But for Zechariah and Elizabeth, their waiting was also more deeply personal.
Both descended from the priestly line, and both were righteous—but they didn’t have children. In a culture where children were seen as proof of God’s blessing, barrenness was not just private pain; it was public shame. Every time Elizabeth walked into a gathering, every time Zechariah performed his priestly duties, the absence of a child would have been felt.
Waiting is never easy. As time passes, it’s easy to think that God has forgotten us and moved on to someone else. I can recall times in my life when my body would physically ache as I longed for God to move, to provide, to answer prayer. In those moments, it felt like I would be consumed by the waiting and undone by the silence. Waiting in a barren season is especially difficult. We look around and see others stepping into fruitfulness and joy, and we can’t help but wonder if life will always feel this empty. Every joyful celebration—pregnancy announcement, wedding, or promotion— can deepen the ache, reminding us of what we’re still waiting for.
Perhaps there are places in your life where you weary from the delay. As each day passes, your heart aches from the sting of disappointment, and hope feels more and more distant. The relationship you’ve prayed for hasn’t come. The family you’ve longed for isn’t here. You have a dream you’ve held on to, fought for, and invested so much in—yet it doesn’t manifest. Seasons like these can feel unbearably lonely, and sometimes it’s hard to find God in the waiting.
And yet this is precisely where the wonder of Advent meets us. Advent is not only about anticipating Christ’s coming return; it is about remembering that the God we wait for is the God who draws close even now. Emmanuel means “God with us”—not far off, not indifferent, but present in our pain. And though we may feel lonely in our longing, questioning where God is and how He could possibly be working, the truth remains: we are never abandoned. Advent reminds all of us who are waiting that we are not forgotten. God meets us in our emptiness. He is present in our yearning. And even though often unseen, He is faithfully at work.
God never forgets. He never forgot His promise to Israel. He never forgot Zechariah and Elizabeth, or their longing for a child. And He has not forgotten you. He is close when we feel overlooked and left behind, and tender when we feel hopeless and exhausted. In every barren season, God is bringing forth new life, and Advent calls us to hold fast with fierce hope until we see it.
Prayer
Lord, meet me in my waiting. When I feel overlooked or forgotten, remind me you are near and at work in ways I cannot see. Teach me to wait with open hands and fierce hope, trusting your timing and presence.
Amen.
