Advent

I’m looking forward to Christmas. Not just because I’m hopelessly sappy and nostalgic when it comes to Christmas, but this year Christmas means Rachel is home. When we tell people what we’ve been doing these past six months, living on opposite sides of the world, we get that look of sympathy and a “I’m sorry” or “That must be so hard.” And yes it has been. The goodbyes especially have been like ripping ourselves in half. But I think we’ve found a few weeks into it you get used to living with half of yourself. It’s not ideal, but we don’t spend our days in a fetal position each night crying ourselves to sleep.

But now, I’m officially over it. I need my wife back.

She flies in the 23rd, just in time for Christmas, and I must say this is the most excited for Christmas I’ve been in a long time. Already I’m dreaming about which coffee shop to take her to first, which markets to go to, looking at the Sydney festival and seeing if we should go to any gigs together. I’m clearing space out in our room for her clothes, and telling about every one who will listen that my wife is coming home soon.

All this anticipation, this waiting has really given me a greater appreciation for Christmas in a way. That longing for Christ to enter our world, our life and make this world whole. Perhaps clearing out the parts of our life that are cluttered and overfilled. Making room, for our spouse, our holy partner to come and reside with us.

As much as Christmas is a looking back it is also a looking forward, for when the bride and bridegroom are finally reunited in the flesh. I want to ache for that like a do for Rachel. The world waited for a baby, who set things in motion to right the world. Then he left. And we wait, and hope, and long for his advent. The last great advent, where angels will rejoice, the poor and outcast will shout for joy, the earth will cease it’s groaning and be renewed, and the bride and the bridgroom will cleave to each other and no power shall be able to seperate.

We whisper, “come”.