Present Waiting

The season of waiting has begun.

In many ways Advent is my favorite time of the year. For weeks we reflect on the happier side of Jesus’ story. We get to relish in anticipation. My favorite holiday, yes, all the lights and cold weather and over-eating included, is just around the corner. What’s not to like about Advent?

But Advent isn’t so far from it’s liturgical friend Lent. It’s still waiting. We’ve just packaged it in a prettier bow.

I found myself pausing for a moment today in reflection. I’m notoriously bad at sticking with intentional spiritual practices. Somehow, I’ve managed to survive all this time by unintentionally finding myself sustained- more on that later- but this week I decided to try a form of tracking my tasks and appointments alongside of things I am grateful for and things I am looking forward to. As I went to write these down, I couldn’t stop thinking, “I can’t wait for Thanksgiving.” Thanksgiving is usually the one time of the year we manage to take the time and money that usually block us from a twelve-hour drive to see my in-laws. We get to relax with family, see friends, eat great food, and be in a different space than our usual, every-day responsibilities. It’s good for the soul. And here I am embracing a mentality that I can’t wait.

For me, “can’t wait,” means that I put my head down in the ground like a good, little ostrich, and power through until I finally get to the thing I’m looking forward to. I anticipate. I don’t invest myself in the things that are on my plate in the meantime. I struggle to stay present. I make packing lists upon packing lists. I do anything and everything to stay focused on what is to come and then…then it’s here and while I enjoy myself, I usually feel like I’ve lost a week of time and the thing I have anticipated isn’t nearly as much of a salve as I had hoped. I have built up my own house of expectation cards.

As I wrote, “Thanksgiving,” I stopped myself and wondered if I am really engaging in the waiting of Advent or if I am simply forecasting myself into what I hope will be a more enjoyable time than the thing I am currently doing. Am I present in my waiting or am I absent in anticipation?

Two Advents ago I was thoroughly pregnant. The stories of motherhood that are tied through our narrative were particularly hard-hitting for me at the time. There was so much joy built into the excitement and expectation of Jesus’ birth. This was decidedly not my pregnancy experience. I was miserable. There was morning sickness, a three-month bout of bronchitis, and I used my newfound She-Hulk strength to break multiple glasses including one that resulted in 9 stitches, a doozy of a scar, and lost feeling in part of my hand. My body was having a difficult time. Sure, I was excited about the baby to come, but I was over being pregnant. I wanted my anticipation, but my body kept pulling me into the reality of waiting. Waiting is uncomfortable. Waiting puts us in positions we’d rather not sit in. Waiting draws us back into the present when our brain rushes forward. While anticipation is mental, waiting is rooted in the physical self.

In college I majored in Theatre/Dance. The small, liberal arts school I attended had merged the programs along ago and they were close partners in the curriculum we were taught. Though I had a history of childhood dance classes, I would not in any way say that I am a dancer. I’m a dancer in the same way that we all are dancers. I have a body. I move it. Sometimes in rhythm. The dance program at my school was thankfully much different than I had expected. We did not learn ballet or jazz or modern. We spent hours in the softly lit studio talking about proper body alignment, about what it means to move from your core to your distal ends, retracing our own physical development as a child and memorizing anatomy. We were thrown into the deep end of body awareness. There’s something to that. To having time blocked off to be present, to breathe, and to feel the way your body works together within itself. Call it mindfulness, call it new age, call it the Laban technique- it was impossible not to be present. In fact, we were taught an important tenet to the practice was to be comfortable waiting in the unknown. I became really at ease in those moments. It was a spiritual practice without the label and, somehow, I was able to receive credit hours.

Why, then, is waiting so uncomfortable? Why retreat to anticipation? Practice. Perhaps, like me, you are the kind of person who prefers to only participate in things they are naturally skilled in. If I can’t pick something up in a day or two, I’m happy to move along and leave it for someone else. This may not be inherently bad, but it has certainly informed the neural pathways and muscle memories that I have built over the years. I am not inclined to practice, I’m inclined to do. Isn’t it just wonderful then that what truly can bring me into the present of waiting and out of the future of anticipation is just that: practice. Thank goodness for the liturgical calendar reminding us twice a year that being present in our waiting is necessary. Despite the Hallmark Channel schedule and mall décor, Christmas does not come any faster by anticipating. We cannot rush to the end and ignore all that is in between. We cannot anticipate and block out the present. We must be here, physically experiencing the passage of time until…well there is no real and full until because it will all come back in just a few months. Just as there is always the next vacation looming on the horizon or the next special event or the next hoped-for big break. There will always be something we could rush towards. But I sense our embodied persons will be the worse off for our hurriedness.

So.

If you need me, I’ll be waiting- trying to resist the urge to write a few packing lists, taking a few deep breaths, and reminding myself that this day has just as much beauty in it as the ones marked with special dates in the calendar.