December 7, 2025 | Meyu Changkiri
When I think about waiting, my mind goes back to two young boys – my brother Imtimendang and me – standing on the dim platform of Dimapur Railway Station, shivering in the December cold as we waited for the night train to Mariani. We were just 11 and 13 years old, clutching our small bags, surrounded by travellers, night sounds, and the heavy smell of coal engines. The journey home for Christmas felt endless, but our hearts were full of hope and expectancy.
Those December days of our childhood moved painfully slow. Each sunrise felt like a small victory, bringing us one step closer to the Christmas holidays, yet it still felt like waiting for eternity. We longed to return to our village – to sit around the warm fireplace, see our parents’ faces, roam the forests, visit the paddy fields, and pluck oranges from our parents’ orchard until our pockets overflowed. These simple activities, so ordinary at the time, remain among the richest memories of my life.
My brother Imtimendang, who is no longer with us today, had an extraordinary gift for outdoor life. He loved hunting with a catapult and was remarkably good at fishing – skills that seemed to be woven into his very nature. I, on the other hand, was not particularly enthusiastic about these activities. Yet I loved following him. Being beside him made the world feel more exciting. His adventurous spirit quietly taught me how to observe, how to appreciate the land, and how to enjoy the small wonders that God places in childhood.
The Long Journey Home
But going home was not easy. As young boys studying in Kohima, we had no luxury of travelling by private car. We were simply two brothers – 11 and 13 years old – full of anticipation and that innocent courage only childhood can offer. To travel home for Christmas, we would climb onto the empty trucks heading from Kohima to Dimapur, paying Rs. 10 each for the ride. Those trucks were covered with dust from the long, winding highway, but to us it felt like stepping into an adventure. We held tightly to the wooden frames as the cold December wind struck our faces, our hearts beating faster with each mile that took us closer to home.
At Dimapur, after spending the evening at our cousin’s house in Police Colony, we would walk to the Railway Station and wait through the long night. Sometimes we shivered. Sometimes we dozed on the hard benches. Yet the excitement of going home kept us awake. When the train reached Mariani early in the morning, we hurried to the NST Bus Station. But this was another challenge. Only when the ticket counter opened did the real struggle begin. Everyone travelling toward Mokokchung through Changki pushed forward at once, creating a chaotic crush of bodies. People did not stand in line in those days. The strongest voice or the sharpest elbow often won. And in the middle of that chaos, we two small boys squeezed through with silent prayers, hoping that we would get a ticket each.
But the most beautiful moment awaited us near home. As the bus approached the highway bypassing our village, we looked out of the dusty windows with anxious excitement. And there they were – our parents – standing by the roadside, waiting for us. That sight was heartwarming beyond words. Even as young boys, something deep within us recognised the love in their waiting. The sleepless night on the railway platform, the dusty truck ride, the struggle for bus tickets – everything disappeared the moment we saw them. Their waiting affirmed our worth. Their joy became our joy. Their embrace told us, “You belong. You are home.”
Looking back today, I realise that this simple moment is one of the clearest pictures of Advent – a Father who waits for His children, watching the road, ready to receive us with joy as we draw near to Him.
The Heart of Advent
Advent comes every year as a quiet invitation to slow down, breathe deeply, and pay attention to the hope God is sowing in our hearts. In the midst of our restless thoughts and demanding schedules, Advent gently whispers: Do not rush. Do not lose heart. God is still at work. It is difficult for us, in a world so accustomed to speed and instant results, to recognise the value of waiting. Yet Advent nudges us to rediscover this sacred discipline.
On this Second Sunday of Advent, we are invited to hold on to a hope that is steady and enduring. It is not a fragile hope that collapses under pressure, nor a superficial hope that depends on positive circumstances. It is a hope rooted in the unchanging promises of God. It is like a small light shining in a dark room. It may not eliminate all the darkness at once, but it reminds us that morning is on the way.
Waiting in Our Part of the World
In our part of the world, waiting is not a strange idea. We wait for landslides to clear. We wait for roads to reopen. We wait for harvests to ripen. We wait for dry seasons to become rainy seasons, and then for rainy seasons to pass. We wait for loved ones to return from distant towns and cities. Waiting is woven into the rhythm of our lives.
Advent takes these familiar experiences and teaches us something deeper. When we wait with God – when we slow down enough to listen, to pray, to trust, and to prepare our hearts – waiting becomes holy. Waiting shapes us. Waiting deepens us. Waiting draws us closer to God.
And Advent also reminds us that we do not wait alone. Across our homes, our churches, and our communities, we wait together as God’s people – different in many ways, yet united by a shared hope. Christ is near. Christ is faithful. Christ will come again.
A Sacred Tradition of Waiting
The Holy Bible is full of people who waited on God. Scripture is not merely a record of miracles, but a record of patience. Abraham and Sarah waited for a child long after hope seemed lost. Israel waited in Egypt and then in the wilderness. The prophets waited for the promised Messiah, shaping their entire ministries around expectation. The early church waited eagerly for the return of Christ.
In Advent, we stand in this long line of faithful waiters. Waiting refines our character. Waiting awakens faith. Waiting strengthens patience. Waiting purifies our desires. To wait on God is to trust that His wisdom is higher and His timing is perfect.
We rarely appreciate waiting while we are in it. But looking back, we often realise that God shaped us more deeply in seasons of waiting than in moments of immediate blessing.
A Model of Hopeful Trust
Among all the biblical examples of waiting, Mary stands out most prominently during Advent. When the angel Gabriel appeared to her with news that seemed impossible, she responded not with fear or resistance, but with surrender: “Let it be to me according to your word.” With that sentence, Mary stepped into a journey that required courage, humility, and trust beyond her understanding.
Mary waited – not passively, but attentively. She carried the promise of God within her, not knowing how events would unfold, yet trusting the One who had spoken. Her waiting was full of uncertainty, discomfort, and misunderstanding, but also faith, hope, and obedience. Mary teaches us that hope is not wishful thinking. Hope listens. Hope yields. Hope creates room for God, even when we cannot fully see the road ahead.
Waiting for God and Waiting on God
There is an important difference between waiting for God and waiting on God. Waiting for God is outcome-focused; it is the kind of waiting that looks for healing, direction, answers, or opportunities. It is the cry of a heart that longs for intervention and asks, “Lord, when will You move?” This kind of waiting often comes with urgency and longing, and it reflects our deep desire for God’s action in our circumstances.
Waiting on God, however, is relational. It is the waiting of trust, worship, silence, and surrender. It is a quiet closeness that whispers, “Lord, even if You have not moved yet, I choose to remain near.” This waiting shapes our posture more than our circumstances. Advent invites us to embrace both – to wait for God to fulfil His promises, and also to wait on God as He shapes our hearts in the very act of waiting.
Preparing Room for Christ
Today, the greatest danger is not that we reject Christ, but that we slowly crowd Him out. Our hearts become so full – not with bad things, but with too many things: noise, deadlines, responsibilities, screens, anxieties. Without realising it, Christ gets pushed to the margins of our daily lives.
Advent calls us to create space again. It invites us to choose prayer over distraction, forgiveness over bitterness, Scripture over scrolling, quiet over noise, and worship over worry. It asks us to make room for Christ, just as Mary made room for the promise of God within her.
Jesus was born into a world whose innkeepers said, “There is no room.” May that never be true of our hearts today.
A Hopeful Church for a Hurried World
A church that waits with hope becomes a powerful witness in a world that is restless and overwhelmed. Hope shapes us into people who pray faithfully, worship deeply, and serve joyfully. Hope strengthens unity and steadies our anxious hearts. Hope testifies that God is still in control.
A hopeful Christian becomes a signpost pointing others to Jesus. A hopeful church becomes a light in the darkness, guiding others toward the refuge of God’s promises.
A Blessing for the Second Week of Advent
As we enter the second week of Advent, may your heart be filled with hope that sees beyond circumstances. May you find patience shaped by trust, strength that grows in quiet faith, and joy rooted in God’s unchanging promises. Christ is coming. His Kingdom is near. His promises never fail. Let us therefore learn to wait – with hope that anchors us, with patience that steadies us, and with faith that prepares room for Him.
Amen.
~ Meyu Changkiri