I feel a small hand on my shoulder and open my eyes. In the darkness, I can see one of our sons standing by my bed, waking me up.
“I had a nightmare,” he says. “I can’t fall back asleep.”
As I come to my senses, I ask him what he dreamed – but it’s still too raw and real. So, I tell him to bring his blanket and he can sleep on the floor by the bed.
Later, when the sun is shining and the fear is just a memory, we talk about his dream. He gives me every detail he can remember. The nightmare makes less sense in the light of day, and it’s easier for us to erase a story his mind was creating in the middle of the night.
“I just wanted to be near you,” he says. “I knew then I wouldn’t be scared.”
Being near the people we love is always reassuring, bringing comfort and peace. It’s not even what they say or do that makes us feel better. There’s something about their presence that helps us feel loved, accepted and safe.
As Advent begins, we may not be sure we’ll be able to gather with everyone we love the way we usually do. The large, extended-family gatherings won’t be the same. Even for people attending Mass, there isn’t the same sense of gathering after the service is finished. We miss that sense of community, the feeling of togetherness, that is so central to the festivities of the Advent and Christmas season.
This year, I find myself remembering the Advent that my husband and I spent in China on our trip to adopt our first child. We boarded a plane Dec. 4 and didn’t arrive back in Baltimore until Dec. 21. We missed attending regular Mass and going to any pre-Christmas gatherings that happened that year.
That Advent, I thought of the Blessed Mother and Joseph, who left their hometown – their whole world really – to travel to Bethlehem. They couldn’t even find a room in an inn in that unfamiliar place. They had each other, and they had their donkey, and on Christmas night, they welcomed Baby Jesus. But of course, they weren’t alone. They were guided and protected through the whole journey by God.
As we begin an Advent that carries a particular darkness and gloominess, I find myself thinking of Mary and Joseph. They embraced so many unknowns on their journey, but they did so with trust and with faith, believing that they would be taken care of and protected. They knew – as we do – that they were loved by our Father in heaven.
As the mother of God, Mary must have felt that sense of Emmanuel – God with us – in a way that we don’t. But we can certainly aspire to that kind of relationship with God. During this different kind of Advent, perhaps we’ll find ourselves on an unusual journey to Christmas – one where we are more physically distant from some of the people we love. Still, maybe this Advent journey we’ll find ourselves connecting in remarkable ways with one another. And perhaps this will be a season where we find ourselves drawing closer to our Lord.
“Christ Jesus is knocking at our door in the words of sacred Scripture,” Pope Francis tells us. “If we hear his voice and open the doors of our minds and hearts, then he will enter our lives and remain ever with us.”
Advent is a time of waiting and preparation. It’s also a season of great anticipation, hope and even joy. May we walk through this Advent longing to be near the One who loves us so much that not only did he create us; he sent his only Son to redeem the world. He knows us intimately. He knows what we need. And when Jesus is born on Christmas Day, maybe we can spend some time right next to the manger – and feel at peace just being with Him.
O come, O come, Emmanuel.
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