Nearly two weeks ago the idea to write about great expectations came to me, not the eponymous work that bears this name, but a reflection on great expectations that shape my life.  How dare I attempt to put into words such heart truths!  I shall be brief.

I am getting ready for Christmas…and for spring.  Two weeks ago, in the early days of this preparatory and reflective Advent season with which each liturgical year commences, I recalled two recent experiences of untold expectation.  Fearfully expectant, I launched myself headlong into the shadow ensconced in the news of a friend’s terminal diagnosis eight years ago, expecting light to emerge on the other side.  Through great fire, this was realized, and my personal transformation ensued.

Then the invitation three years ago, again during Advent, took fearful expectation and changed what I experienced as my previously normal life into something more beautiful than I could imagine.  My heart already started the journey, and now my body and mind ran (pardon the pun) headlong to this new life that is reflected in the difficult yet fulfilling temple maintenance I now embrace as part of my daily ritual and routine.  What is the catch?  Loss took human form for me, and the re-narration of my life draws me deeper into the mystery of my faith, reminding me anew of the Great Expectation embodied in Jesus’ advent, to set aright the great undoing left behind in the garden.  As I see my life undone and rewoven in this Great Expectation, I am humbled at the thought that redemption comes in small but mighty packaging.  Just as a baby conceived and born in “untimely” circumstances, each of us possesses the opportunity to join in this timely work.

I have not arrived unscathed to my current abode, and every day presents challenging moments where I miss the mark.  But I am not done…not yet. Tonight, as I drove home in the rain from the grocery store, I smelled spring in the air.  I was surprised to detect this familiar aroma, a sneak preview in these last days of fall.  Autumn’s beauty fades to winter’s pristine silence…and then new life comes with spring.  Advent-loss takes human form and ushers in new life.  Oh yes, spring is coming, and just as I smelled the earth’s freshness, my heart lifted, knowing that the beauty of the garden par excellence is at the doorstep.    I rest in this joy tonight.  I run to my loss, and I will not let it go until it blesses me.  I am undone-redone-by this great expectation.

Come run with me…to the manger, to the garden, to the tomb, to sunrise eternal.  I learn something new each time I run this course.

Last week’s Thanksgiving Day Race saw nearly 14,000 runners and walkers finish.  I walked it alone…sort of. None of my usual training partners were able to join me, and perhaps that is the way it was meant to be.  So I walked, surrounding by thousands of others, and I listened.  Not to my music, which assisted me in maintaining a steady pace, but rather I listened to my pulse.  Strong, steady, certain, and my mind focused on the person for whom I “ran” this race, my mother.  It was the final race I would compete in for 2011, and I wanted to offer my prayer on this day in thanksgiving for my mother.  She has been steadfast in her support of me in this new life I now lead, even reaping some positive health benefits too, and as I left home to drive downtown for the race, she sent me with breakfast, a smile, and her inimitable prayer: “Go and win.”

Go and win.  Hmmm, now that is sublime wisdom, not spoken with hubris, but humility.  Remember your roots, Roxanne, is what I heard, dare I say, felt with her blessing.   How apropos  that a few days before the start of Advent, my mother would be waiting  for me yet again, so as I walked I recalled other times she waited for me, and one singular event came to mind.

It was a Saturday morning in mid-November, and a young mother was at home, and the familiar pain that she felt before told her that today would be like no other-she would give birth today.  Soon.  And so it was, in the early hours of that day, her waiting ended and I arrived in the world.  She waited for me.  She hoped for me.  It was not an easy world in which I was born, I imagine, for in the familiar grasping of hands, perhaps I somehow knew that more struggles would come…and that I would not release them until they blessed me.  Strengthened me.  Made certain my steps in an uncertain world.

Many more such times would she wait and hope for me,  and again she tells me, “Go and win.” Once again, she sent me forth to find my path anew, and she stands at the door waiting for me.  As with Simeon from of old, she waits for the blessing, and she will not go until she sees it come to pass.  My mother knows something that I do not know, cannot begin to fathom. She knows that it is okay to wait for the blessing to come.

Thank you, Mom, for waiting and hoping for me.  May I one day reflect the depth of trust you so now eagerly embrace.  I am grateful for you, for the reminder you give me of another mother who waited for the blessing to come to pass.  The blessing each of us can be in the world extends forward to infinity and backwards to eternity.  Mom, you remind me that I am not great in and of myself, but that I find greatness in the hope, faith, and trust that love me to life each day.  So yes, I am thankful for you-more than words can say.  I too await the blessings to come.