Great Expectations
For many years, especially when my children were small, I prepared for the Christmas holidays with an energy and zeal I didn’t know I had! We would always start December 1st with the advent calendar, hung where everyone could see it. The children would take turns hanging a little ornament every day, and with the passing of each day, the anticipation of Christmas grew!
I would always give the house a good winter cleaning. Then we’d pull out the decorations and fill the house with greenery and berries, and light candles that smelled of cinnamon. We would also be shopping for gifts, but it never failed that one of the children would scratch something off of or add something new to their list, and in a panic just days before Christmas, I’d be out desperately looking for what I needed. Sometimes I succeeded! Most of the time I failed.
A week before Christmas, we’d search for the tree, set it up in its usual spot, and pull out the tree decorations. We’d turn on the Christmas tapes (yes, it was that long ago!) and busy ourselves with decorating. Every year as we finished, one of the children would inevitably say, “This is the best tree we’ve ever had!” Presents were placed under the tree, spilling out around the edges. On Christmas Eve, we went to the Children’s Service at our church, and then once the stockings were hung and the kids were in bed, I’d sit down in the chair near the Christmas tree and catch my breath.
And then, I would cry. I never understood why. It seemed to happen year after year, and I could not come up with an explanation for this outpouring of tears. Perhaps it was just exhaustion. Every year, on Christmas Day, my expectations for a perfect day would be shattered. It often would turn out to be a day of dealing with everything other than the joy of the season I’d always expected—tired, arguing kids, complaining relatives, unappreciated gifts, and dirty dishes. My greatest expectation had turned to be just getting the holidays behind me.
Then four years ago, shortly before Christmas, I was admitted to the hospital with severe breathing problems. With immediate attention and care and countless tests, x-rays and new medications, I waited with some apprehension to learn what was wrong with me. The doctor explained to me that I had a terminal lung disease. I knew about this disease, because it was the painful cause of death of a close friend of mine. And I was scared.
I learned from my husband that my sister had come, and when we arrived home, I saw that my oldest son had brought Christmas to our house—an artificial tree, already decorated and in place, and through my tears, it was absolutely beautiful. My sister, my husband, our children and grandchildren wrapped me up in all their love, and though we all were full of questions, none of us were ready to talk about looking for answers.
In this sudden onset of fear and anxiety, I turned to God in prayer. I knew I was asking a lot as a non-practicing Christian. How long had it been since I’d actually gotten down on my knees to pray sincerely and wait quietly? I couldn’t remember. But in those moments of waiting, I felt my heart filling with a sense of peace. Later in my discipleship journey, I learned that this was God’s infinite Grace filling up my heart. This Grace had always been there for me, always. But this was the first time I had ever opened my heart to let it in. In my great sense of fear and need, God had come to me.
As the months went by, when my health should have been slowly deteriorating based on my diagnosis, I was slowly getting better. How could this be? Was it a remission? Did people ever survive this disease? Was it a misdiagnosis? I made an appointment at the Mayo Clinic, where it was confirmed I’d been misdiagnosed. I did have a lung disease that was manageable and treatable, but not terminal. I was overwhelmed with gratitude! But a misdiagnosis? No.
This was not the mistake of my doctor. A remarkable change had occurred between my first x-ray and the final x-ray at Mayo 18 months later. The physical signs on the original x-ray confirming the first diagnosis were gone. Only the signs, totally different, of the final diagnosis appeared to confirm the change. This was God at work, letting me know he had some things yet for me to do!
The seasons of my great expectations are gone. The season of Advent is now for me a time when I await the arrival of the newborn Christ, knowing that His expectations of me are simply to love Him and serve Him. How easy is that? We are all prepared for this beckoning from God because His only expectation is the hope that we open our hearts in accepting his infinite Grace, and respond to his call.
Prayer
Loving Father, bless us all during this Advent Season with an abundant faith, a fruitful ministry, and a joyful life. Bless us to continue the work of Jesus. The arrival of this newborn child is Your promise fulfilled, that we may be healed, saved and delivered. Let us rejoice! Amen
DIane Feaganes
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