I love Christmas.
I really do, and I know that I’m not the only one.

But I have no desire to put my Christmas decorations up yet, or start playing all the Christmas music, because Christmas isn’t a season, it’s a holiday.

I heard the Nester put those words around this sentiment on this podcast episode – and I am in full agreement. Because as much as I delight in all things Christmassy, I do not want to be sick of them before 24th December rolls around. And frankly, I am not ready yet.

I recognise that as the nights draw in and the days get colder and darker, we long to feel cosy and connected to one another. We long for bursts of joy and a sense of safety and refuge against the elements, and mostly, we are longing for hope.
Hope that we will not be trapped in the dark and cold – where nothing seems to grow, the ground is sparse and there is no sense of abundance.

We long for the promise of new life, new ideas and the excitement that comes with it.

I believe that we long to know that we are not abandoned to obscurity, that there is joy and playfulness and a sense of wonder available. Therefore all the lights and festive jolliness, with it’s promise of family and connection, make so much sense.

Yet I think that what the season of Advent offers us, is the promise of hope and light and our longing for it, held in tension with the now and not yet of waiting.

It’s in the silence of waiting that we discover how much we are in need of love and support.

It’s in the waiting that we are brought face to face with our longing for freedom, where our inner life shouts to us, that our pain and sadness – that which we all have somewhere in the mix – needs to be given a voice and be heard.

It’s in the waiting that we wrestle.

When a baby chick is emerging from its egg, it needs to struggle through in order for it to survive and thrive in the world.

This is not some weird and twisted arbitrary suffering, imposed to teach it some abstract and unloving lesson at its most vulnerable, but because the chick needs the strength it gains through that struggle, the muscle power if you will, to enable it to flourish as it grows.

If it doesn’t have the struggle, then it will not be able to cope with the next stages of its life, and it will prematurely die.

In the same way, if as soon as Autumn starts to shift towards winter, we get straight to the fun and bounce of Christmas, with all it’s excitement and festivity, we are likely to brush over all the pain we have endured this past year. We will speed on, taking no space to pause and reflect, thereby missing the opportunity for true healing.

By laying out our inner world, we bear witness to it.

By grieving what we have gone through, we have an opportunity to seek help, take stock and figure out what we can let go of.
We can avoid carrying more burdens into the next year than we need.

But if we continue to rush straight from one high to another, too scared to slow and stop in case we feel all those difficult and painful things we so desperately wish we didn’t have to face – we will eventually get to the point where the decision is taken out of our hands.

Plus, when when post-Christmas January stretches on without the same promises of excitement to sustain us until Spring finally arrives, we are more likely to limp our way forward, more exhausted and in need of that pause than ever.

Just as a feeling that devastating snap of a tendon in the middle of a race is both terrifying and inconvenient – it will make an athlete physically stop running on overworked legs until they are properly healed – in the same way burnout and breakdowns will have the same commanding finality on the timing of a body and soul in need of pause.

Ultimately advent is an invitation to the seasonal rhythm of letting go, sitting with the dark, allowing our eyes to grow accustomed enough to truly see ourselves, and to rest, in order to step into the light, less burdened and recuperated enough to truly enjoy and receive the hope and promise of future and deep intimacy on offer.

Whether you actually choose this time of year to respond to the call to pause or not, honestly doesn’t matter as much as the fact that you actually allow yourself time out to lay it all down.

I like the fact that as the world gets busier towards the holidays, the choice to stop and prepare my heart has more impact.
I also like the way my lack of Christmas decoration doesn’t impede my opportunity for cosiness and comfort, but allows my home to reflect that pause before the abundance of light, so that I can more fully enjoy it when Christmas arrives.

So whether you already have your tree up, and chestnuts roasting, stockings hung and carols playing or not, perhaps you can give yourself the gift of pause before the full holiday season arrives.

Give yourself the gift of laying bare your hearts, and laying out our burdens at the feet of the one who loves you too much to let you continue as if everything is ok, when there is still hurt and pain which hasn’t been healed.

And enjoy the hope and light of love which promises to fill your heart with truest joy.