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Waiting for the Wonder: Voices of Advent by Katerina Katsarka Whitley
Wishlist Wishlist. Write a Review. Advanced Search Links. Add To Cart. Revised Edition. The Space Trilogy, 3 Volumes in 1. Notebooking Journal for Human Anatomy and Physiology. Horizons for Three's Student Workbook. Reading 2 Student Worktext 3rd Edition. The Beginner's Bible. Related Products. Lysa TerKeurst. Have a question about this product? Some called it madness, and they may have been right. I reached the edge again and again, poised between sanity and madness in my sorrow for the people who have forsaken the Lord, who have despised the Holy One and are estranged from the One who loves them.
The smell of their burnt offering in my nostrils, I looked to the heavens and heard the voice of the Lord saying,. I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams But after the darkness brought on by the assemblies with iniquity that have become a burden to the Lord there arrived this vision, and its coming was a balm: sweet as honey, tender as a mother's love, comforting as my father's hand in mine when I was a young child. The vision was imbued with light. This light has never been extinguished, though other, darker visions followed it. Through the many years that have rolled into oblivion since then, I have heard the pundits and the would-be prophets trying to interpret my vision, to understand it.
Now that I am old, I know that most human interpretations of visions are wrong. How do we capture the Divine within the human mind? And how does the song of heaven touch the strings of our lyre? I too have sought to understand and have given voice to my visions. Many of them have been fulfilled in my lifetime.
But this one vision I have only felt. I never sought to understand it, for its comfort was so welcome that I resisted putting it into words. I only wanted to live in it, to breathe it, and to continue feeling its comfort as I felt it the first time it appeared to me. These are the only words I found, and so far in my lifetime, no one has understood them as they were meant:. Why should they have filled me with such joy?
They came to me from a God who had despaired of the love of his own children. My tears ran profusely as I wrote of God's unfathomable heartache:.
Is there a hurt more searing than that caused by ungrateful, unloving children? And the vision continued in its excruciating pain:. What more was there to do for my vineyard that I have not done in it?
When I expected it to yield grapes, why did it yield wild grapes? The images continued to fill me with despair, to flood me with God's grief. And then, when I had given up hope for any comfort, came these tender words: "Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.
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And then it became more certain—this hope of a coming—but of a child? From a God who had despaired of his children's love? Who is this child? I cried to the Lord. I cried out: Mighty God? Is it possible that God is talking about the Godself in the form of a child? But I received no answer that I could understand. Only a song in my ears rang its joyful news:. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness— on them light has shined. I had to be content with that. I prayed that I would see that day.
But now, at the end of my days, I am still waiting, praying that those who will walk in light will recognize the Giver of light. Come, Immanuel, come! Why have I found favor in your sight, that you should take notice of me, when I am a foreigner? Ruth b. May you produce children in Ephrathah and bestow a name in Bethlehem; and, through the children that the Lord will give you by this young woman Ruth b—12a.
Matthew —6. It was a night of personal terror and unconcealed shame. Imagine what it felt like. Imagine being tutored by your own mother-in-law on how to seduce a man.
Waiting for the Wonder: Voices of Advent Audio Book
I had been a widow for a couple of years. I had left all I had known as a girl—my parents, my village, my traditions—to enter the alien world of the Hebrew children. I did it because Naomi, my dead husband's mother, was a powerful presence in my life, and because nothing could be the same for me in Moab now that my foreign husband is dead. I would be an outcast at home as the widow of a Jew. So I decided to follow Naomi across the border, and even she thought I was a fool to do so. But she was lonely and, bereft of all three men in her life—her husband Elimelech and her sons Mahlon and Chilion—she was glad for my company.
Together we returned to Bethlehem, her village and the ancestral home of her husband's family. Everyone there seemed to know her, but I was sad that she felt such bitterness at returning with only one daughter-in-law instead of the triumph she had envisioned—coming home with her husband, her sons and grandsons. Again, I felt that I didn't count. By now everyone seems to know my story, but I want to tell you about my night of terror and shame.
I had been gleaning the fields because I didn't want Naomi to starve and, young as I was, I thought, Maybe one of the young reapers will see me and choose me for a wife. How else was I to survive?
Waiting for the Wonder: Voices of Advent
As I bent down to pick up the leavings of others I kept thinking how sad life was for women. We were prey to every man's desire. If we had no man to protect us we became things to be grabbed and claimed, not human beings to be cherished. I remember my tears as I walked behind the reapers, tears that never stopped. I felt that life was unfair, but I was not selfish enough to think this was my fate alone.
I could see that it was the fate of all women. I would ask, Why, why are we fated to be things and not persons? Who is this god of the Israelites? They seem to think this god really cares for them. To me that became an ever-present question: Who is this god of the people of Bethlehem?
As I worked, I was terrified that someone would assault me—any man could do so, any man could have me just for the taking. And that knowledge filled me with unbearable despair and fear. So, the moment the day's work was finished, I would hide myself among the other gleaners, my head completely covered with only my eyes free so that I could see my feet as they trudged along, and I would rush back to the security of severe Naomi who would fight anyone to protect me. Every day I followed the gleaners because they knew best which fields were ready for harvest and which reapers were merciful enough to leave some barley on the stalks and on the ground for us poor migrants.
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