For This House
Every Season. Every Space. All for Him.
Every Season. Every Space. All for Him.
We’re culturally terrible at waiting.
We get things the same day with Prime or grocery delivery. We can instantly text a friend for feedback, or even post so that dozens of people can respond within minutes. We aren’t content to be still or create space for boredom. We tend to entertain our kids and ourselves every moment of every day, filling silence with podcasts, music, and endless scrolling—and we wonder why we’re feeling overwhelmed.
Waiting feels like wasting time. Like we’re missing out. Like we should be doing something.
But right now we have an invitation into something countercultural waiting for us to respond: Advent—the season of sacred waiting.
My brain feels overloaded with information lately, making it hard to slow down and figure out exactly what I’m feeling. I committed to too many things this fall, and I’m feeling it. My mind darts from one thing to the next, and I’m often too distracted to form a coherent thought. The noise is constant. The demands feel relentless. And in the middle of it all, Advent whispers: Wait. Be still. Anticipate.
The waiting that calls to us in Advent isn’t passive; it’s purposeful. We’re not just killing time until December 25th has come and gone. We’re being welcomed into active, hopeful, expectant waiting. The kind that trusts that God is faithful, remembers He has come, and anticipates that He will come again. The kind that says, “I don’t need to rush or hustle or fill every moment, because God is already working.”
And honestly? I need this. I need it really badly. I need permission to slow down. I need rhythms that honor the wait instead of trying to skip past it. I need to remember what—and who—I’m really waiting for.
So this Advent, I’m learning to wait well, and I’d love for you to join me.
Advent isn’t about just waiting for December 25. Instead, it’s about entering into a deeper story—one that stretches from Genesis to Revelation, from God’s first promises to their ultimate fulfillment.
Advent invites us into a two-fold waiting: we remember that Jesus came, AND we anticipate that Jesus will come again.
This year, I’m not just waiting for Christmas morning. I’m waiting with Scripture, letting God’s promises shape my anticipation and anchor my hope. I’ve created a 4-week Advent reading plan that walks through the story of hope from beginning to end:
Each week includes daily Scripture readings and questions for reflection to help us consider the full arc of God’s story beyond the manger. I hope that by understanding what we’re waiting for, the waiting itself will become meaningful.
I’ve learned recently that waiting well isn’t going to happen accidentally. If we aren’t careful, we’ll trudge through, fill up the time, and miss it. Waiting well requires creating space and establishing rhythms that honor the wait instead of rushing past it.
This Advent, I’m practicing these disciplines of intentional waiting:
Gratitude keeps me grounded while I wait. It reminds me of God’s faithfulness in the past, which gives me confidence in His promises for the future. When I’m tempted to focus on the “not yet,” gratitude brings me back to what God has already done.
Here’s how I’m practicing gratitude this season:
Gratitude isn’t pretending everything is fine—that’s toxic positivity. Gratitude is choosing to notice God’s presence and provision even in the midst of difficulty, which is the antidote to anxious waiting.
I can’t wait well if I’m rushing and I can’t be present in the anticipation if I’m distracted by a thousand other things, so I’m intentionally creating space:
Every “yes” to busyness is a “no” to stillness. Every commitment I add is mental space I’m taking away from simply being present. This Advent, I’m trying to choose margin.
Oof. This one feels the hardest for me. I listen to music while I drive, audiobooks while I cook, TV in the background while I scroll my phone. Silence feels uncomfortable, even wasteful. But if silence is where I learn to hear God’s voice, why am I trying to cover it up?
This Advent, I’m practicing:
At first, the silence is going to feel loud. My brain will race. I’ll get fidgety. But the more I practice it, the more I’ll notice that silence isn’t empty—it’s full. Full of God’s presence, peace, and the kind of rest that my soul desperately needs.
“Joy doesn’t negate all other emotions—joy transcends all other emotions.” – Ann Voskamp
Here’s what I’m discovering: when I wait well, joy shows up. Not surface-level happiness, but deep, transcendent joy that comes from knowing God is faithful. Gratitude is the antidote to my overwhelm.
Waiting isn’t a waste of time, it’s an intentional opening for transformation to happen. In the waiting we learn to trust and we find rest for our souls. As we wait, we discover that the “not yet” becomes less painful because we’re grounded in God’s “already.”
This Christ-centered thankfulness leads to contentment and a joy that overpowers my worries and fears. When I slow down enough to notice God’s faithfulness, when I create space to hear His voice, when I let Scripture shape my anticipation—that’s when joy transcends everything else.
And here’s the beautiful thing: we don’t need to wait for the New Year to renew our focus and commitments. Let Advent reset your heart. Say “yes” to the invitation to slow down and remember what really matters and feel the difference as you pursue new goals in the coming year, rooted in the only One who can bring about lasting change.
What if, instead of rushing toward Christmas this year, we learned to rest in the wait?
What if we let Advent be what it was always meant to be—a season of sacred anticipation, of hopeful longing, of active trust in a God who keeps His promises?
I’m walking through this Advent season with intentionality. Join me in reading this Advent Hope Plan that will guide us through Scripture’s story of hope from God’s first promises to their ultimate fulfillment in Jesus.
Let’s wait well together, create space for silence, practice gratitude, and let God’s Word shape our anticipation.
Welcome to the season of waiting.
Lord,
In this season of waiting, slow my hurried heart and quiet my mind. Remind me that You are faithful, that Your promises are true, and that joy is found by resting in Your presence, not by filling every moment. Ground me in gratitude as I wait with hope, trusting that You are already working even in the “not yet.”
Amen
Ally is the primary founder of For This House. She just finished renovating a cute, old house in small town Washington where she lives with her husband and young son. Ally is a teacher by trade, but also enjoys library cookbooks and watching Downton Abbey. Learn more about Ally.
Ally is the primary founder of For This House. She just finished renovating a cute, old house in small town Washington where she lives with her husband and young son. Ally is a teacher by trade, but also enjoys library cookbooks and watching Downton Abbey. Learn more about Ally.