By Lisa Kutolowski
How long, O Lord, will you forget me?
How long will you hide your face?
How long must I bear grief in my soul,
This sorrow in my heart day and night?”
-Psalm 13:1-3
Advent is a season of waiting. This is a time to acknowledge our deep unmet longings; to cry out as the Psalmist did, “How much longer?” Holy waiting is a necessary activity of the spiritual life – to look deep into the heart of our sorrowful waiting. The peace of our hearts – and perhaps even the peace of the world – depends on it.
We waited two years for Anna Theodora – our daughter who is nearing seven months old. Now that she is here with us, two years does not seem long to wait for the most incredible gift of my life. However, longing for something to happen or change – when you don’t actually know if or how it ever will – makes a funny mess of the perception of time. I suspect you have had similar time-bending experiences – serious illness of your body or a loved one’s, economic hardship, a child’s emotional pain. We certainly can all relate to the hardship and isolation associated with the COVID-19 pandemic with no clear end in sight.
Being forced to wait evokes all sorts of responses. Waiting may lead to impatience, our frustration initiating the need to do something, anything, to distract ourselves from the pain of waiting. Or we may be tempted by apathy, convincing ourselves that we don’t actually care that much in order to protect us from the pain of longing.
In the first year of waiting for a child, I was largely able to take it in stride. I was worried, for sure. There were confusing doctor visits. There were desperate internet searches. (Oh, what a rabbit hole exists online for a woman trying to conceive!) There was numbness. There was frustration. There were tears.
In the subsequent months, the pressure of waiting increased. I oscillated between two extremes. I was either angry and resisted my reality or I deluded myself into thinking it didn’t really matter all that much. I found it incredibly difficult to hold the truth of both poles: I desperately wanted something, and yet I didn’t have it and might never have it.
After sixteen months of holding this tension, something broke open within me. A huge wave of anger and hopelessness overcame me. Even as I write this two years later, I can feel my gut churning, my chest tightening, and my throat constricting as I recall this time. In December 2018, I felt all that and more. I finally faced the truth that I may never conceive a child and that realization was unbearable. I was convinced I could never be happy if this thing didn’t happen for me. If I didn’t have a child, I thought my life wasn’t worth living.
This, of course, is not true. This was the voice of a deep attachment not getting its way. For sixteen months I was able to reason with this attachment. I was able to interpret reality in a way that did not confront the lie I was telling myself – that I needed a child to be happy. Finally, I couldn’t slip around the truth anymore and I had to face my attachment head on. I went into the pain, the uncertainty, and the grief of my unmet longing. I felt into the tension and fear in my body that I had been trying to ignore. I lamented. I prayed. I wept.
On the other side of this purifying fire, I pulled a treasure from the ashes that I would not exchange for anything. I realized in my heart and in my body that any child I may have is not mine. If I should conceive a child, I am entrusted with caring for them, loving them, teaching them, honoring their soul’s flourishing, and letting them go. Before this reckoning, I held the unconscious belief that my fulfillment in some way depended on having a child. (and how that child would respond to me and the life they’ve been given). By fully entering the pain of my unmet longing, I received the ability to more freely love my future child. I am exceedingly grateful for this time of waiting. Its fruits are the greatest gift I can imagine giving to Anna.
The waiting continued eight more months after this experience. It was a markedly different time, for I had learned something about holy waiting. I still longed. I still wept. But this time I was able to celebrate the beauty of my life while simultaneously holding the pain. I longed to be a mother, but I didn’t grasp for it. I grieved without a compulsion to fix the source of grief. This does not mean I did not act. I continued to see doctors and other health practitioners. I sought to understand what was happening in my body. I prayed. But I did all these things with a greater freedom to be present to the reality of my situation.
I am certain that more months or years of waiting would have revealed more layers of attachment and with those revelations, more gifts. I also know that learning to freely love Anna without grasping will forevermore be a part of my life’s work. Nevertheless, I thank God for the gifts I received in the waiting.
What about you? Where in your life are you being forced to wait? Are you resisting a reality you cannot control? Are you falling into a false apathy – convincing yourself you don’t care as much as you do? Do you trust – despite the uncertainty – that there are gifts hidden within the pain of your unmet longing?
It is essential we are honest about the pain of waiting. Without this honesty, we will find ways to skirt around the pain – avoiding, distracting, deflecting. This attempt to escape feeling the pain almost always transfers the pain to someone else. We seek security, wealth, or pleasure at the expense of someone else and ultimately, millions of people’s unacknowledged pain leads to entangled systems of injustice. Additionally, if we can’t look our personal pain in the face, how can we take an honest look at the grave injustices and inequities in the world? If we can’t acknowledge the pain of our personal unmet longing, how will we ever be free to hear the cry of the poor and the disinherited? We turn to these questions next week.
Prayer:
If possible, go to a place where you can be alone and free from interruptions. Stand where you have a few feet to your right and to your left.
Begin with a few minutes of silence, resting in the love of God.
Call to mind an unmet longing. Feel whatever emotion arises. Then check in with your body and feel how your body is responding to these thoughts and emotions. Take a few deep breathes.
Physically step to the right. As you stand here, imagine what it would be like if what you wait for is fulfilled. Let yourself feel that what you want has come to pass. What does it look like? Sound like? Feel like? Smell like? Take all this in as fully as you can.
Physically step back to your starting point. Return to your present surroundings as you take a few deep breaths.
Now, physically step to your left. As you stand here, let yourself fully feel the absence of what you desire. Imagine that what you hope for never comes to pass. Let yourself fully feel this absence. What does it look like? Sound like? Feel like? Smell like? If your mind wanders to what it would be like if your desire was fulfilled, return to the reality that it is, in fact, not fulfilled. Take this in as fully as you can.
Return again to your starting point – the space in between. As you stand here, try to hold both experiences simultaneously – the fulfillment and the absence. Physically move between these three spaces as much as you like. Be with whatever body or emotional response comes up.
When you are ready to conclude, return to the middle space. Take a few breaths, remember God’s presence with you, and pray however you feel led.
April 2020 - two weeks before our daughter was born
About this Advent Series
The singular message of Advent is at once a comfort to those who are oppressed by large systems anda warning to those who prop up these oppressive systems. At the same time, it is a call of hope to those suffering discord in their personal lives andit’s a call to shine the light on the evil in our hearts. We receive this message of hope both as individuals and as members of society. And as people who both suffer and cause suffering, we must heed the warning as well as welcome the comfort. It is so easy for us to collapse this hope for peace into a warm blanket of comfort and consolation, and in doing so to miss the whole.
This series is an attempt to see more clearly the whole message. Last week, we began by looking at the shadows within our own hearts. This week we turn to our personal pain in waiting.