Many churches celebrate a season of Advent, anticipating the birth of Jesus. Advent means “arrival”, and this is a season of waiting.

We all have seasons of waiting. For direction, perhaps, or provision. For freedom, for healing, for change. We wait at bedsides, in doctor’s offices, courthouses and social service buildings. We wait in lonely rooms, in the darkness, in the turmoil inside our own hearts. We wait for a friend, a lover, a prodigal. For hope.

Jesus waited 30 years before doing anything remarkable. He knew that in the waiting, laboring in a carpenter shop in an obscure village, in the hiddenness of an ordinary life, lay the key to our redemption. For He is more than the Savior who died and rose for us; He is also the Savior who lived for us. The One who understands our waiting, because He waited.

The One who still waits, even now, for us.

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