REFLECTION:

It’s funny how things unfold. If you’ve been following along with my reflections these past days, you know I’ve been connecting our waiting for Christmas with my sister’s pregnancy as she prepares to give birth to her fourth son. Well, yesterday she sent a message to our family group chat after her doctor’s appointment. The doctor told her she may need to go to the hospital already—she’s 2 centimeters dilated.

Now everything feels different. We’re excited. We’re alert. We’re waiting. The baby could come tonight, tomorrow, or sometime this week. Nothing has happened yet—but something is clearly about to happen.

That feeling is exactly where the Church places us on this morning of Christmas Eve.

In today’s reading, King David is finally at rest. He lives in a house of cedar, and from that place of stability he looks at the Ark of God dwelling in a tent. His desire is good and sincere: he wants to build a house for the Lord. Yet God gently interrupts David and turns the plan around. David will not build God a house. Instead, God promises to build David a house—an enduring family line, a kingdom that will last forever.

On this morning, we stand in that same space between promise and fulfillment. Like David, we may feel that everything is ready. The decorations are up. The plans are made. The church is prepared. And yet, God reminds us that Christmas is not something we accomplish; it is something we receive.

The “house” God promises David is not made of cedar or stone. It is a child. A son. A king whose throne will endure forever. That promise, spoken centuries ago, is now just hours away from being born.

This morning teaches us how to wait well. Not with anxiety or impatience, but with trust. Advent has trained our hearts for this moment—to recognize that God is faithful even when we cannot yet see the fulfillment.

Before the noise of tonight’s celebration, this morning invites us to pause. To breathe. To pray. To sit with the quiet excitement of what is about to be revealed. Tonight, the promise becomes flesh.

This morning, we wait—awake, attentive, and full of hope.