LOVE THAT COMES BEFORE WE UNDERSTAND
“What, then, will this child be? For surely, the hand of the Lord was with him.” - Luke 1:57-66
There is a gentle quality in today’s gospel that stays with me. Elizabeth, who once thought her time had passed, now holds a child in her arms. Neighbors gather in awe, and Zechariah’s voice returns like a blessing after months of silence. Everything feels simple yet sacred, as though God has been at work in the stillness all along, tending what was hidden and patiently drawing hearts toward trust.
As I prayed over this passage, a line from a hymn came to mind: “O God, you search me, and you know me.” It feels like a truth Elizabeth and Zechariah faithfully carried in their hearts. Elizabeth receives a promise she never expected, and Zechariah’s silence becomes a doorway into his reshaping. Both are held by a God who sees who they are and who they are becoming.
This Advent, my spirit turns toward the people in my life who walk with more than meets the eye. A friend keeping vigil in a hospital room. Another supporting a loved one at a pivotal moment. Someone dear learning the first tender steps of grief. And my younger brother, entering a holiday season that no longer resembles the one he knew just a year ago, says gently, “It’s quiet, but I will be okay.”
When I bring this into prayer, what surfaces is not certainty but presence. I wish I could lighten their burdens, yet most days all I can offer is my listening. It is a helplessness that is not empty, but a threshold where God meets me, shouldering what I cannot carry alone.
As God meets me in these in-between places, I begin to notice His love in the small moments, especially in a familiar exchange with my daughter. I tell her, “I love you as big as the sky.” She responds, “I love you most,” and I say, “I loved you first.” She always lets out a soft “Ahhh,” as if the words are settling into her heart.
It reminds me that love begins before we fully understand it. It waits for us, inviting us to trust the God who loved us long before we could name it. In that small exchange, I glimpse what Advent asks of us: to lean into a love that assures us God is already shaping the light ahead.
Lord, help us walk with Elizabeth’s quiet hope, Zechariah’s openness, and the neighbors’ wonder. Teach us to trust that the God who knows us so intimately is the maker and keeper of our days.
Tam Lontok