Dishes in dishwasher and it humming and quietly grinding away, night has fallen and we all happily scrub counter-tops, light pumpkin-scented candles and put cereal boxes and banana peels–the remnants of the day–away.
The girls settled down with a movie, I think about Mr. Simmons coming home as I shower. I look forward to kissing him at the door and wonder what I will wear.
I feel a little like a love-sick teenager as I anticipate his coming, a little like the bride waiting for her bridegroom,
a lot like the church, the chosen bride of God, waiting for Christ’s coming.
Through all of it they held out.The elect–those Israel children that told Moses they would rather go back to slavery under Pharaoh than to be desert-wandering–they waited so long and through much arduous toiling and slavery, through much miserable oppression–they just waited.
For generations and generations they waited. Each and every old man waited in exile for his ransom, His Saviour, and in his death, when no Saviour had come, he told the story to his children again of a Saviour, a shoot that would spring up from the stump of Jesse, as the scrolls foretold.
He would tell his children as they gathered ’round, of Immanuel, God with us, God that would come to them, these children held captive by sin.
“O come, O come Immanuel and ransom captive Israel
that mourns in lowly exile here
until the Son of God appear
Immanuel shall come to thee O Israel”
And when Mr. Simmons finally arrives, my hair still dripping, I kiss him and all six of us gather tight on the couch and light the candle on the advent wreath.
We let the candle burn bright in the dark room, God’s bright light, the only pure light shed upon our dark hearts.
And His perfect plan unfolds, all of us gathered ’round, waiting, just waiting for the story of the Saviour
and we hold out for the promised birth.
And we wait for our ransom, and we wait for Him to come and bring our freedom.
Immanuel. God with us. We wait for that.
We wait in the lonely season, in the dry desert. And it is here that we meet Him.
And we know Him as Immanuel.
I shift my gaze and see a little one falling asleep by the table that holds up our advent wreath, our waiting. And children touch one another back and forth and the baby wanders around while Mr. Simmons reads from the bible and I wonder if this lighting of the candle, this waiting, this beholding is helping at all.
I grow a little frustrated underneath my weak smile and I see the sin in all of us.
I see how that it will never be perfect here. We will never fully know God here in these sin-filled bodies. I silently pray in my heart for deliverance for us all.
And I wait. And I hope for Him to come. I shift my gaze again and in the dark we all feel Him here.
“O come thy rod of Jesse, free
thy own from Satan’s tyranny
From depths of Hell they people save
and give them victory over the grave
Immanuel shall come to thee, oh Israel.”
Please watch the video below of “O Come, O Come, Immanuel” with scenes from Nativity Story:
And this one a beautiful song by Christy Nockels, “Waiting Here For You”, if you would like to listen in worship?
I wasn’t able to link up with Jen at Soli De Gloria this week since I didn’t do a Monday post, but I wanted to share her post, a vlog, because it really touched me. You will certainly be blessed if you would like to click on the link below…