I have long felt my expectations are a bit of a problem.
A day derails with children bickering and my feeling generally overwhelmed, and I think If only I had lowered my expectations for this day, then I would not be so disappointed when it fails to deliver. I lie in bed at night replaying moments of the day when I was short on patience, harsher than I meant to be, and I think If only I expected less than perfection from myself, maybe grace would be simpler to receive. The yard work, the house projects, the honey-do list grows, and I think I must release some of these expectations for the sake of my marriage.
If only I could lower the expectations I have for myself—for how my day should go, for my children, for my husband—then surely my home and inner life would be far more peaceful. Expectations are a problem, no?
A similar logic occurs to me in our current season of waiting. This season is hard—of course it’s hard. If I could just fix my expectations (somehow the responsibility for everything being hard lies with me), then this season would not feel as intense, right?
As I consider Advent though, our liturgical calendar’s most pronounced season of waiting, I find it is a season filled with expectation. Expectation for God to come through on all that he has promised, for light to come break into the darkness, for hope, for rescue, for redemption.
In Advent, it is the very reality of expectation that frames our waiting.
Perhaps in our individual seasons of waiting, we can take a note from Advent’s lessons. Perhaps we can learn to wait with a similar expectation, asking “God, what are you going to do? What light will you stream into my life? What does hope look like for this season?” We wait with anticipation for what God will do and with expectation that he will do something.
In this sense, expectation is to be equated with hope. We are not holding naively to these unrealistic burdens of expectation put upon ourselves or others, but rather, placing our realistic hope in the person of Christ. It is the person upon whom our hope and expectation is placed that makes all the difference.
So even in my daily mundane, rather than looking to my own perfectionism for hope, I can look to Christ. Rather than finding my joy and contentment in a peaceful home environment, I can look to Christ. Rather than looking to the completion of my to-do list (or the honey-do list) for meaning, I can look to Christ.
Of all seasons, I find this easiest to do during Advent. Perhaps it’s the beautiful, slow build up to what we know will be a celebration of joy and light in the coming of Christmas. But in the other waiting seasons of my life, without the clear and approaching date of December 25, I find it harder to wait with joyful expectation.
Here are a few practices that have helped keep my heart tender and expectant in waiting seasons.
- Slow down—our souls may need more time and space to adjust our expectancy anew. If our pace is too full and fast, it becomes more difficult to tune our hearts with the promises of God and the coming hope of Christ, both in the season of Advent and in whatever waiting season you find yourself.
- Notice the beauty—there are gifts in it all, if only we have the eyes to see them. How is God’s goodness evident to you in this season of waiting? Where do you see signs of light, of hope, of beauty, of Christ?
- Pursue honesty—let a few friends, as you can, into the intricacies of this waiting season. Where do you need extra support, encouragement, or care? We can lean on the community of Christ because these sisters know what it is to wait expectantly, to hold fast in hope.
May this season of expectant waiting upon Christ fill your heart with light and hope.
