As I mentioned yesterday, waiting is one of the hardest parts of Advent. Heck, if you know me at all, you probably know that waiting is one of the hardest parts of my existence. I've never been good at it. I've done it a lot, but I don't like it. If I had back the minutes I've spent waiting for the bathroom alone, I'd probably recoup hours over the course of my lifetime. But I can't. So there you go.
You might think I just ADORE Christmas so much that I can't even wait for it to get here, and that's true. I love seeing people open the gifts I've selected for them. That moment when they discover that Mom and Dad got them a Wii that are just priceless. I have a warm place in my heart for the year that Harriett asked the Santa at the Mall for her very own jar of peanuts for Christmas. There it was, Christmas morning, from Santa, her very own jar of Planters honey roast. She couldn't have been happier with a whole bucket of gold! She carried that jar around like it was her prized possession. There's just something wonderful about being heard and having the desires of your heart fulfilled.
That is the waiting that is hard for me lately. Three years ago, I experienced God in a different way. When I had my cardiac arrest, my body was laying on the floor of the salon. I was being held in the arms of my Maker. I felt like the most beloved child of the Most High Creator. I've never been part of a love so complete and whole and perfect. I love a lot of people, and I wish I could share with them even a tiny spark of this love that I was engulfed in. The only word to describe it is love, and we've all but ruined that word. People love their new car, or love a pair of jeans. Not like this. Those things don't exist compared to this real, deep perfection of love. I was allowed to survive that cardiac arrest to try to share this love with you. I think it would make God happy if I told people how amazing his love is, and that he loves you as much as me.
But knowing what that Perfect Love feels like makes waiting to feel it again even harder.
I had my taste and I ache for more. Waiting is NOT an option! So I look for ways to find little glimpses of love. It's kind of like peeking at the presents, except without the guilt. I go visit the Sisters because I've seen the light in their eyes that tells me they know about this love. Their lives are like the star that guides me to the perfect light. I watch my children sing praises in Mass, and I rejoice that they hold tightly to that piece of divinity that each child is born with. I am overcome with tears of joy remembering each of them being my baby (and being God's baby) and taking a turn as the dear child that I nestled close, like a young virgin did in a stable all those years ago. Each one is as precious and dear to me as He was to her.
And now, all grown up, he is precious and dear to us all.
So we wait. And we prepare. And we watch for the signs and sneeked peeks of holy love.