"What's Next, Lord?"

"When we demand satisfaction of one another, when we demand any completion to history on our terms, when we demand that our anxiety or any dissatisfaction be taken away, saying as it were, 'Why weren't you this for me?  Why didn't life do that for me?' we are refusing to say, 'Come, Lord Jesus.'  We are refusing to hold out for the full picture that is always given by God."
--Fr. Richard Rohr, Preparing for Christmas: Daily Meditations for Advent

In the many years before my wife and I had children (we were married 14 years before the first arrived), I often marveled at the endurance and patience of young parents we knew.  Even then I speculated that parenting must be one of the most profound spiritual journeys of life, calling a person to a level of sacrifice and self-giving nothing short of heroic.

Now that we are parents too, with two children both under the age of three, I can attest with conviction to what I could only speculate about then.  I am embarasssed to admit it, but the sea of spilled milk, spit up, dirty diapers, and copious quantitites of tears (more than a few my own), coupled with a numbing, never-ending sleep deprivation, has revealed enormous personal limitations, attachments, and all manner of other inner junk I barely knew was there.  Most days I stumble around irritably clinging to the last shred of patience and equanimity I can muster, only to watch it shatter when some simple task like going to the bathroom is interrupted for the umpteenth time by the piercing shriek by one of our precious but highly-demanding children.

And then there's the guilt I feel about feeling the way I feel.  Objectively speaking, I am the most blessed person I know.  My children are beautiful, healthy, and (when they get their way) happy.  My marriage is stable and strong.  We have more than adequate material resources and fantastic jobs that afford us a work-life balance (such that it is) that most people can only dream of.  Realizing how deeply attached I am to order and predictability, to the products of my work life (which have suffered subtly but signicantly in recent months), to regular periods of solitude and self-reflection...it all makes me wonder what kind of crisis I'd have if something really difficult actually happened in my life.

But my guilt is not enough to transform my exhaustion into energy or my frustration into gratitude. 
I pray about it, but mostly I think I secretly pray that God will somehow make it all better (restore order and regularity and some modicum of self-control to my life) rather than give me the grace to endure this natural but difficult time with dignity and faith.

Advent is a season of waiting and expectation as we prepare ourselves for the Lord's coming, not simply in the memory of the Christmas Incarnation, but in our everyday lives and in our own time.  It is extremely tempting to spiritualize my current state into some kind of prayer to make all this pass.  "Come, Lord Jesus, and make my son sleep through the night; come, Lord Jesus, and help me finish grading these papers today; come, Lord Jesus, and get us to church on time for a change."  As if somehow all of that would prove that he is Emmanuel, that "God is with us."

In fact, I do believe (intellectually, even if I truly lack the faith to back it up) that He is already with us, that He is already here amid the chaos and the dirty laundry and the endless struggles to find something a toddler will eat.  The appropriate prayer for me this Advent is to surrender to whatever mysterious graces the Lord is offering me in this present moment, just as it is. Rather than "Come, Lord Jesus," my Advent prayer should be, "What next, Lord?" as I seek to perceive whatever he is revealing to me in the latest temper tantrum, skinned knee, or tardy arrival to work.

Mostly, I think He is revealing how petty are most of my concerns, how I cling to all kinds of things that aren't, in the big picture, all that important.  I wish seeing this somehow made me stop these perpetual patterns of self-inflicted anxiety, but even my failure to "improve" these aspects of my personality are still teaching me about his goodness and glory.  After all, while we are called to holiness, His grace is nevertheless poured out to us just as we are.  Even as I love my children no matter how difficult they are each day, so He loves me, even in my brokenness and frustration.  Perhaps the most important thing he's asking me to surrender is my own fear of being human.

Emmanuel, come and open my eyes to the goodness all around me, including the goodness with myself, just as I am.  Help  me to find you in this present moment. 

What's next, Lord?  I'm waiting to find out.  Amen.