My life at 47 does not look the way I imagined. Marriage and motherhood, things I assumed would just happen, didn’t. I sit in church during homilies that talk about families, marriages and religious vocations, and feel like the Church has forgotten about people like me.

But then Advent arrives, and I exhale. Because Advent is a season that leans into the waiting itself. It doesn’t rush me toward resolution or tell me I’m incomplete without certain life milestones. It says: waiting and longing are part of the human story. They have value and a place in the history of salvation. They’re not failures or gaps to fill, but real seasons with their own gifts and purpose.

I remember as a child lighting candles and singing songs about waiting. But I was impatient to grow up. Really, I was impatient to get to Christmas! I did not recognize that the waiting and longing are part of the enjoyment of the realized promise. If I hadn’t longed for the Barbie playhouse, would I have been as excited to see it on Christmas morning? If I didn’t take time to help decorate the house, place special ornaments on the tree, or even listen to different music, would the celebration of Christmas have resonated?

The older I get, and the longer I live on my own, the more I love Advent. Lighting the wreath reminds me of childhood dinners and my mom singing O Come O Come Emmanuel as our prayer before eating. That ritual of the candles, the song, and the building anticipation for Christmas shaped how I understand Advent. It’s not just theological, but in my very bones.

Walking the Camino taught me the importance of paying attention to the moment and being open to surprises. To reduce my expectations and learn to be grateful for the gift of the present. I’m definitely still working on this, but Advent is a great reminder and a chance for me to practice noticing how God works in my life. 

We think we know what God has promised and how he will bless us in our lives. But he is the God of surprises. Promises fulfilled, yes, but not typically in the way we expect. Advent reminds us of all the different longings that the Jewish people had for the messiah. Those O Antiphons are names and images of what we thought we wanted and needed. But who does God send? An infant in a manger, to parents of no stature. And this messiah, he’s not the worldly king or revolutionary that many anticipated. He is God himself, who brings peace and justice and mercy to all those who listen and respond.

And therein lies another gift of Advent: the reminder that what we are called to do is listen and respond. There are stars for us to follow if we notice them. Being single, I often have quiet space to listen and reflect (sometimes more than I want). On hard days, that quiet can feel like emptiness. But Advent teaches me to see it differently. That very emptiness and space is where God reaches out to meet me. The longing actually points me to him. I can take that longing and ache straight to him, in hope and in trust that just as he kept his promise to Israel, he keeps his promise of love and peace and mercy to me.

Is this easy? Most days, absolutely not. Rather, it feels like Advent is my season of life. But it is a season that calls me to active waiting, to trust in God’s goodness and promise of desires fulfilled. My job is to slow down, listen, and respond by preparing my heart and home to receive the Lord. For he is coming!

So when I’m feeling discouraged, or overwhelmed, or lonely as we approach holidays that focus on family and tradition, I crank up my Advent playlist and sing at the top of my lungs of the goodness of God, the greatness of his mercy, the certainty of his promises.

[If you want to sing along, here’s my Advent playlist on Spotify – a mixture of contemporary versions of traditional hymns and some other contemporary songs that help me embrace the season.]

O come desire of nations, indeed. Let my soul glory in the Lord. Let me enjoy the waiting, not as a delay, but as preparation for the good that God has in store for me. 

Do I know exactly what that goodness is? No. I’m still waiting. But I’m leaning into the idea that my waiting has meaning. That God is with me in this present moment, not some far off future promise. My life started a long time ago – I don’t need to wait for anything to live with love and hope. Will you join me?

I’d love to hear from you: What do you love about Advent? How does a season of waiting and preparation speak to you? Comment below and let me know.