The First Word of Advent

The prophets go quiet.
No word.
No whisper.
Just the ache.
A people leaning forward
into darkness that never seems to lift.

And everywhere
chaos.
Kingdoms falling.
Empires rising.
Hearts tired of hoping.
Generations clutching ancient promises
like seeds buried deep
in cold, abandoned soil,
wondering if they’ll ever crack open and feel the sun waiting.

Longing.
A holy longing
stretching across centuries
for peace,
for a Counselor,
for a King meek enough
to carry the weight of the world
on pure love's shoulders.

Waiting.
Still waiting.
Patient, but breaking.
Quiet, but desperate.
Just a word.
Just a breath.
Just one sign
that God is still with them.

And then
after centuries of silence
the first sound
of redemption cracking open the dark
isn’t thunder.
Isn’t a royal decree.
Isn’t a sermon from a temple stage.

It’s a greeting
spoken into the life
of someone the world never noticed.

Not a man.
Not a scholar.
Not theologically polished.
But Mary
no status,
no platform,
just a girl with a humble heart, offering herself to God’s story.

And heaven breaks the silence
with a shout disguised as a whisper:

“You are wrapped in the Lord’s favor;
the Holy One stands with you.”

And just like that
the horizon warms.
And hope,
fueled by ages of silent longing
finally
inhales
the light.