I can see the anticipation in my children’s eyes as we move into the Advent season. That beautiful, exquisite longing birthed out of their dreams of a magical Christmas. It sets their little hands in motion, making paper chains, cutting out snowflakes, and wrapping gifts. True, they do love receiving presents and look forward to opening them, but much more of their joy is experiencing the season leading up to Christmas morning. They hope for times of wonder, times of joy, times of laughter, and fullness.

Advent is a season of hope and anticipation rooted in expectant waiting for the coming Christ and the fullness of life He brings. This hope keeps us looking forward to that day, as my kids look forward to Christmas. As Jesus says in Matthew 24:42-44, “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.” Hope is made alive in the promises of Christ. We look to the past and recognize the ways God has fulfilled His promises, drawing us forward in hopeful anticipation of a better world to come.

However, in times of sorrow, hope seems like a wisp of smoke hanging in the air, suspended just out of reach, and in very real danger of being blown away. When our vision is clouded by images of war, children starving, and thousands of Gazans surrounded by rubble, hope seems like a four-letter word. Speaking of hope in the midst of pain is akin to pouring salt on a wound. It feels too scary to hope. And yet, as Walter Bruggeman asserts, “it is precisely those who know death most painfully who can speak hope most vigorously.” Until we have walked through grief and felt utter despair, we can’t intimately know hope.

Hope compels us to name this evil. As we gaze unceasingly upon the destruction of Gaza and the violence committed against Palestinians, hope compels us to continue on in the name of something better.. Because of hope, we imagine a future where Palestinian children, like Elyas, a 5-year-old boy I have been praying for through CMEP’s Let Children Live campaign, can run in the streets without fear. Because of hope, we imagine a future where Palestinian children aren’t held in military detention, but move freely. A future where they have access to water, to food, and to shelter. A future where bombs and snipers don’t leave them orphaned. Hope that allows us to imagine a future the way it should be. And really, isn’t this the magic of children? Like my children, looking ahead to Christmas, children all over the world imagine possibilities for worlds with more joy, creativity, and freedom. Inspired by them, this is my Advent prayer: