The turn into the Advent season felt slower and sloggier to me this year than years past. For the first time in fifteen years, I haven’t been planning for months, or at least weeks, how to share the season with a congregation. It’s strange and a little disorienting.
Lingering at Thanksgiving last weekend, however, was a real pleasure. We spent a long weekend at my folks’ place in Southern Minnesota. Together we laughed at dog antics (spurred on by my playful “little” brother), we shared stories and learned things from my niece and nephew (at 14 and 11 now practically young adults), we plotted and planned how and when we would see each other again and what a summer getaway might look like with an infant in the mix. Also, we ate. When my dad showed his curiosity at how my belly was growing beneath the baggy sweaters I was wearing, Lucas quipped: “It’s more than enchiladas in there.” In short, we had a great weekend.
And we worshiped.
I don’t know when I last spent a Sunday of Advent at Zion, the UCC congregation I grew up in. Last weekend there was a heavier emphasis on stewardship than “Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus,” though we did sing that lovely Advent hymn. Worship may not have scratched every Advent itch, but it was really good to be in that place, and around the people, that formed and raised me.
My dad is currently serving as president of the church council, so gave a talk in worship about generous giving as a way to signal to pastoral candidates the enthusiasm and commitment of the church. We’d had a good talk the night before about the challenges of recruiting a “vibrant, young pastor” during a season that is difficult for so many churches. We talked through what it looks like to provide compensation and a path for growth that is both generous and just. And though the theme of worship was directed toward stewardship and gratitude, seeing a combination of old-timers and young children as the church articulated its commitment to its future felt very much in line with lighting the first Advent candle for Hope.
(I don’t think Zion’s UCC profile is active yet, but if you’re curious about a kind, small-town river community, about an hour south of the Twin Cities with a commitment to its future, you can find out more here.)
After church and more table fellowship and a Minnesota goodbye, we made our way home, feeling the turkey and the pie and the miles. It takes a little longer these days to recover from a trip (even when Lucas does all the driving) and put things back to rights. By the time I pulled out my Advent wreath at home and realized the only candles I had left were the stubs from last year, the sun had gone down on Monday. (New candles are arriving Saturday.)
I’m not sure what I expected to feel being pregnant during the Advent season. For years I’ve preached more sermons and prayed more prayers and crafted more pageants and liturgy than I can count that referenced Mary’s pregnancy. Her “Yes!” to God and to new life and her connection to and anticipation of that life growing inside her. At sixteen weeks pregnant, I know there is a healthy little one moving and growing inside me, for the doctors and the scans and my slowly growing waistline tell me so. But I have yet to feel them (sg) move.
There are certainly days and moments when I am filled with a deep sense of connection with the life that is developing inside me and the Source of their life and mine. There are also a lot of days and moments when I’m mostly filled with gas.
Emily Dickinson famously wrote that hope is the thing with feathers. Paul, in his letter to the Thessalonians, described it as something more substantial – the helmet of salvation. This year, for me, hope feels simply human. Not always shiny, but grounded, pervasive, and persistent. When I have trouble sleeping or find another food that interacts with my GI tract in a new way, I think about Mary, both in the comfort of her cousin Elizabeth’s house and on that damn donkey. I’m so sorry, Mary. Pregnancy is more and different than I ever imagined.
I read an article recently that described pregnant people as endurance athletes (the increased blood supply and flow, heightened metabolism, overall strain on the body). It made sense. It’s not all wonder. And it’s not all strain. Sometimes this little one inspires the height of awe and hope for the future, and they are also already grounding me in very human experiences. Grounding me in the trust that whatever human thing each day holds, together we’ll make it through.
This Advent I’m gestating a human hope that persists and endures. Preparing a place for the One who comes and the one who’s coming in May. I’m holding hope with and for you, too, friends. Trusting that whatever humanness is finding you, you too will make it through.
Much love,
Lindsey
I thought I’d share a couple tips from one who also was a first pregnancy, older mother.
You mentioned waking up at night. Someone had told me when waking up in the night, it was the baby’s circadian cycle and the baby would follow this pattern so be prepared. I don’t know if generally true, but certainly was for my daughter.
My second advice is sleep. Start taking naps now. Another old wives wisdom is when the baby sleeps, the mother naps too. Yes, when the baby is awake hold them, play with them but when the baby sleeps, the mother needs to sleep too. Don’t worry about “things that need to be done”. The mother’s primary focus should be the baby and herself fit at least the first year. I know that will be hard - is difficult for most moms, especially working mothers (which I was). The baby will be happier with a well rested mother and as they say “a happy wife is a happy life”. Hugs.