Advent Begins Quietly

Advent begins quietly
like the sun slipping into the sky
before we even notice
the stars have stepped away.

It starts small,
soft,
almost forgettable,
and yet something in us knows
knows
this season is whispering,
slow down.
Pay attention.

So we strike a match,
light a candle,
to push back the dark.
To remind ourselves
that hope still burns,
bright enough,
just enough,
to keep us walking forward.

It comes in flickers,
in barely-there whispers,
in the warm, gentle glow
of a God who remembers us
even when we forget ourselves.

And maybe this—
this right here—
is the hardest part:

The waiting.
The in-between.
The not-yet.

Trusting God is working
in the places we can’t see,
mending what we swore was breaking,
breathing life into spaces
we were sure
were only silence.

But Advent leans in
and tells another story.
A better story.

That even in the long nights,
God is doing more
than we can dream.
That His timing
is not absence,
and His quiet
is not distance.

So we wait.
Not with empty hands,
but with hands full of truth:
Light is on the way.

And we remember:
We are not forgotten.
We are not alone.

God is filling our lives
with hope,
peace,
joy,
love—

more than we know what to do with,
as He invites us
again and again
to slow down,
to breathe deep,
to pay attention.

In this season,
we wait.
We hope.
We trust
that God is doing something more than we can see.