Advent

Advent

I do not like surprises.
I do not do well in waiting,
I am tapping and bouncing and biting finger nails
in anticipation of things to come.
I am not a visionary,
I am not one to dream,
I am too entangled, entrenched
in present things
For dwelling on future things that I cannot control.
This is your grace:
That there is a coming kingdom
that indeed I do not control.
That despite what I like or what I want or what I think makes sense,
You are glorious and ordain the fullness of time in the virgin's womb and in the empty tomb and in the trumpet blast.
But I am base and
I am, despite your glory,
tapping and bouncing and biting finger nails
during this season of advent.

Advent, reprise
If advent means waiting for you,
Then I am all too impatient to turn the pages on the calendar.
This is too much anticipation;
You are too good and things here are too bleak.
You must come,
And I cannot wait.
Don't delay, don't tarry.


(I wrote the first poem during Advent 2012 and the second exactly one year later in 2013.)