When Lent Is Advent

I don’t know about you, but it felt like Lent was extra long this year.  Of course, it took forever to start, with Ash Wednesday falling three weeks later than it did last year, and then it felt like it would never end. 

For me, it began in February, when I became a pregnant single working mom Monday through Friday.  In January, my husband accepted a job promotion that requires us to move and he began work there the next month.  I dealt with the first week by being out of town, too.  My daughter and I traveled down to Florida to visit with my mom’s best friend and her husband, neither of whom had ever met my daughter. 

The worst 48 hours was a couple weeks later, when I had two appointments one Thursday, the latter one at the eye doctor, who told me I had a spot on my eye and if I noticed either of two symptoms, then I was to call immediately because it meant I had a detached retina.  From that office visit, I picked up my daughter, found dinner, and went back to church for a meeting that was somewhat tense, on top of worrying about my eye on top of worrying about having my 1 year old out late two nights in a row.  Nothing eventful happened the next day, except that by the time I got my daughter in bed Friday evening, I went into full self-care mode.  I ate a bowl of cereal for dinner, put on one of my favorite childhood movies, and then read a good book until my husband got home from the airport.  I was done.

The best week of this spring happened a couple weeks after that, after I returned from two nights in the Bahamas.  My husband had a business trip to Nassau, so for the price of my airfare and food, I tagged along.  And I slept.  The following week was the best week this spring because it was the only time I was well-rested!

It has been a rough spring, a rough Lent.  Except, truthfully, I’m not in Lent.  I’m not being pruned or disciplined or in a season of turning to God.  I’m in Advent.  I’m waiting for God.  I’m waiting, expectantly, sometimes impatiently.  Waiting for another child to be born.  Waiting to move.  Waiting to find out if and in what capacity I’ll serve a church after June.  Waiting.  Something exciting is coming.  But I’m still waiting.  And making all the preparations in the meantime.  Packing.  Going to OB appointments.  The house went on the market on Sunday.  I’ve applied for jobs at churches.  And a District Superintendent has promised to call me in the next week.  Actively waiting.  It’s hard.

If you want a sign of hope, I do feel like I’m near the end of Advent.  The fourth candle has been lit on the Advent wreath.  I feel like I’m really close, things are about to happen (except with this baby, he better not be born until August!).  But the other changes are imminent, we’re in the final days, the final weeks, the end is almost in sight. 

And yet… this past Sunday at church was Youth Sunday and of all the things the kids shared, the phrase that stuck with me is that “this is not the end.”  So, the end of the waiting is coming soon.  The end of the story is not.