I am a dreamer, so I know what it is to hope. 

But an Advent liturgy I have been following recently asked me: Where have you been reluctant to hope? Where have you been hesitant to ask? I immediately felt my body tense up at this question. "Everywhere!" my mind screamed. And in that confession, hot tears began to flow, and as I lit the first candle alone in my room last weekend, a peace so great fell over me, and I sat there, silent, clothed in a rest only the Spirit could give. 

I lived this past year frazzled and frantic. Things that had once come so easily to me seemed really hard. Nothing I went for seemed to work out. I struggled financially. I lived daily with the consuming question: "How am I going to make this work?" At the risk of sounding cliche, I hesitantly knocked on many doors, but every single one of them turned me away. 

So in my frustration and exhaustion, I went up to the biggest, most magnificent door of all and pounded on it boldly. Ironically, it’s the same door I have passed by and been wanting to knock on for years. But every time I considered it, every time I passed it, that little antagonist in my head said, “That door will NEVER open for you. You are not good enough. What could you possibly contribute?” I think in moments of desperation you have two choices: you can give in and give up, or you can press on toward the wild and crazy. And in my desperation, I chose to knock on one of my deepest desires.

This past week, as our contributors spoke of a hope that comes like the slow warmth of sun, like the first glimpse of dawn, like the first lit candle - a sign of light in what was cold and darkness; as they have challenged us to wake up from our protective stupors and to watch and hope again, I found myself expectantly waiting for a phone call I knew would come at the end of the week. This call held the potential to drastically alter the path of my life, but I had no control whatsoever over what I would hear on the other end of the phone.

All I could do was wait, anticipate, and hope.

Friday came, and I saw the number show up on my phone screen. I answered it, heart pounding, knees shaking. I knew there was a chance that all the work and risk I put into this could once again lead to disappointment. But sweetly, the deep rest I experienced earlier in the beginning of the week stuck with me. What will be, will be. After a few moments of polite greetings,  I heard the words I didn’t even know I needed so much.: “You are accepted,” the kind voice said, “and we are so excited to have you.”

Now here we are at the end of the year, and as I look back on all of those doors, the only common denominator I can see is that they were all small little safe doors. That doesn’t sound like God to me.

What should have been easy, by the world’s standards, was really hard. And what should have been hard, by the world’s standards, fell into place so easily. I laugh in delight of my upside-down King. 

Theres definitely a risk in hoping, in waiting, in waking up.  I really hope you choose to take the risk.

We can hope with great courage because we are ROOTED in a great promise, and are grafted in to the Advent story.

Let us pray this prayer together, as we enter into the second week of Advent:

We come to light the second candle with a hope already sparked.

Where did you experience hope this past week?

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