A Lesson from the Christmas Countdown: Learning to Wait Well
It was a Tuesday morning when I reached up to the little gingerbread Christmas countdown that sits on the windowsill above my kitchen sink and flipped it from 10 to 9.
Nine days until Christmas.
Single digits.
And something in my chest dropped just a little.
I wanted an extra week.
An extra week of hiding the elf—bounding down the stairs at 5:50 a.m. because I just heard my four-year-old wake up and the elf has not moved.
An extra week of hearing my kids sing Frosty the Snowman at the top of their lungs (I say sing, but it’s really just enthusiastic screaming).
One more Friday night snuggled on the living room floor with lukewarm hot chocolate and a Christmas movie.
One more week of backseat giggles at Donald Duck in Mickey’s Christmas Carol.
Just… one more week.
But my kids?
To them, this waiting is taking forever.
Every morning on the way to daycare, my four-year-old, Adley, asks how many days are left until Christmas. This is always followed by, “Can you show me on your fingers?” She’s my planner—she needs a visual. A concrete measurement of exactly how much waiting she has left.
Which, inevitably, cues a mini meltdown about how it’s taking for ages (a phrase we can fully credit to too much Bluey—and honestly, no regrets).
Two Perspectives in the Same Season
One of us wants to slow it down. Stretch it out. Soak it up and wring every moment for all it’s worth.
The other can’t understand how Christmas feels both closer and farther away at the same time.
And if I’m honest? I get her.
Christmas might be the only waiting season I’ve ever actually enjoyed.
Because waiting anywhere else feels unbearable.
Waiting at a stoplight—I have to physically fight the reflex to grab my phone.
Waiting in a grocery line more than three people deep—surely this doesn’t need to take this long?
And waiting on an answered prayer?
Let’s just say toddler meltdowns have nothing on the ones God has witnessed from me.
I find myself wondering if God experiences our seasons of waiting the way I experience this Advent anticipation. Because waiting creates nearness. It draws us close.
Advent has a way of reminding me that waiting seasons in motherhood and faith are rarely wasted.
I cherish these quiet, sparkling moments with my children—and I wonder if God cherishes His moments with us, even when they’re messy. Even when they’re filled with my toddler-sized questions: why, how long, why is this taking for ages?
Not because He withholds good gifts for His own enjoyment—but because He knows what waiting forms in us.
What Waiting Has Been Teaching Me
During this Christmas season, I’m intentional about teaching my kids a few things.
I teach them about Jesus—because I want Him to be the center, not just the backdrop.
I teach them about generosity—because I want them to think about what they’re giving, not only what they’re getting.
And I teach them about gratitude—because I want them to be thankful for what we already have, long before the next gift is unwrapped.
And slowly, in the midst of the countdown and the chaos, I’m reminded:
God uses our waiting seasons the same way.
To teach us.
To refine us.
To shape us into children who can carry the weight, and wonder, of answered prayers—without letting them crush us.
Maybe waiting isn’t something to rush through or escape.
Maybe it’s something to receive.
Even when it feels like it’s taking for ages.
Advent Series – A Surrendered December:
