I don’t know about you, but December always feels like a whirlwind. I begin planning my calendar in October just to make sure I can fit everything in. As a worship planner, I start thinking about Advent and Christmas as early as August! With so much going on, it’s easy for Advent practices to get lost at the bottom of our to-do lists—or to get skipped altogether.

For much of our culture, December has become a month-long extension of Christmas, starting earlier every year. As soon as Thanksgiving ends, the decorations go up, and the countdown to Christmas begins. Don’t get me wrong, I love the cozy, festive feeling of Christmas décor. But with all the gatherings, rehearsals, and pageants, it’s easy to bypass Advent entirely and just extend the Christmas season through the whole month. The result? By the time December 25th arrives, we’re worn out and don’t have the energy to truly celebrate.

That’s the modern Christmas experience. But what if we looked at it differently this year? What if we paused to reflect on what Advent really is—and isn’t?

This year, more than ever, I’ve felt the weight of the world’s brokenness pressing on my heart. There are so many injustices and so much suffering, both globally and in our local communities. It’s easy to lose hope in the face of it all. Will things ever change? I find myself echoing the psalms: How long, O Lord?

This feeling of longing and struggle is precisely what Advent invites us into. Advent isn’t about calm, bright, or cheery reflections—it’s about the discomfort of waiting in a broken world. Advent calls us to look honestly at our present realities and long for the Savior we so desperately need. It’s not just a countdown to Christ’s birth; it’s also a call to remember that Christ will come again to make all things new.

Isaiah 40:1-2 speaks of God’s comfort in the midst of struggle:

“Comfort, comfort my people,”
says your God.
“Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and proclaim to her
that her hard service has been completed,
that her sin has been paid for,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.” 

For good news to truly be good, it must meet us where we are—in the mess and the pain of the real world. And it did! Christ came into a messy world. We serve a God who has walked among us, became friends with sinners, healed the sick, and cared for the suffering. God challenges us then, as we enter this season, to reflect on what stirs inside you and connects you to the world and its people. Is there something God is placing on your heart to help bring His kingdom more fully into our midst?

Later in Isaiah 40, the prophet says:

A voice of one calling:
“In the wilderness prepare
the way for the Lord; make straight in the desert
a highway for our God.”
(Isaiah 40:3)

For years, I’ve focused on the first part of this passage—prepare the way for the Lord—thinking of it as something I must do. And yes, that is a part of Advent. But this year, I’ve been struck by the second part: God is making a highway to us. The road God is building is not just a metaphorical journey we take toward Him—it is a real road, carefully planned and intentionally built. It’s a road that God Himself has made to come to us. What a beautiful image of the gospel of grace! It’s a reminder that Christ is the one who has made the way for us to be reconciled to God.

This thought brings to mind a song by Sandra McCracken:

This tiny ship that carries me,
It is not yet, but it will be.
So heaven come, it’s you we need.
Fear not, keep on, watch and pray.
Walk in the light of God’s highway

In a world that often feels consumed by darkness, it’s easy to doubt whether redemption is even possible. We’ve waited so long for healing and hope, we can’t imagine how Christ might return to bring restoration. But that’s exactly what Advent invites us to do: to look toward the horizon and hope.

As Jan Richardson beautifully writes:

In Advent, we are called to lift our heads, to raise our eyes, to look toward the horizon and dream of the way by which Christ will come to us. In calling our eyes toward the horizon, Advent does not draw us away from the present or lull us into avoidance of the world at hand. Advent invites us instead to stand in the thick of this life and open our hearts to the road that Christ wants to make—not only for us, but also in us and through us. For when Christ comes, the horizon He appears on is not so distant, after all. The place where He shows up is always in our very midst.

Advent is a season of hope—hope even in the midst of darkness. We light candles each Sunday as a sign of this hope: that though the darkness may feel overwhelming, there is a light coming that will once again reclaim His creation. Even when we can’t see or feel it, God is always at work. Advent invites us into that waiting, that longing, that anticipation. It is, in fact, part of the process of redemption.

So here’s my challenge for you—and for myself—this season: Let’s not rush through Advent or shy away from the tough realities of our lives or our world. Let’s name the things that weigh heavy on our hearts, and address them in confession, prayer, and worship. Let’s be honest about the darkness we face, knowing that this is precisely why we need a Savior. And then, when Christmas arrives, we can fully celebrate the hope and light we find in the glory of Emmanuel—God with us. May we be a people filled with Christ’s true hope.