On this third Sunday of Advent, we lit the candle of joy and turned our hearts toward the kind of joy that can spring up even in dry places. Isaiah 35 speaks to a weary people—tired from waiting, thin with sorrow, unsure if hope is anything more than a memory. Into that fatigue, God whispers a promise: the desert will bloom, the lame will leap, water will find its path through the wilderness, and a holy way will open before the redeemed. What struck me is the timing: these words are spoken before anything has changed. The promise lands while God’s people are still in the desert. That is where joy begins.
Joy is not the prize after our circumstances improve; it is the presence of God while we wait. Isaiah calls this the language of reversal—God undoing what seems set in stone, tending to what we assumed could never heal. So we wait like someone at the top of an airport escalator—tired, perhaps, but smiling at each new crowd because someone we love is on the way. Our joy is rooted not in what we see but in who is coming. Advent teaches us to name our pain honestly, and yet to hold it with open hands because God comes near—not from a distance, but close enough to be held, trusted, and welcomed.
Some of us are running December like a marathon on broken knees—grief, fractured relationships, financial strain, or just the press of life. Hear this: your desert is not God-forsaken ground. Joy is not something you must manufacture or fake; it is something God grows in you—sometimes slowly, sometimes surprisingly, always faithfully. Like a sprout breaking through concrete, joy has a way of insisting on life. And like water that “remembers its path,” joy knows how to find its way back to God’s people. So we wait—not with despair, but with expectation. Not with clenched fists, but with open hands. Christ is near.
Key Takeaways
- 1. Joy grows in desert places Joy is not the reward for crossing a finish line; it is God’s presence meeting us mid-stride. Isaiah promises bloom before the landscape changes, inviting us to expect God in dry ground. Learning to look for small shoots of life trains the heart to recognize grace before relief arrives. Joy begins where God shows up, not where trouble ends. [50:11]
- 2. Wait with eyes fixed on Who Advent reorients our waiting from outcomes to a Person. We don’t deny pain, but we refuse to let it define the horizon because Someone is coming. Like the one scanning the escalator, joy flickers even before arrival because love is on the way. Our hope rests in the character of the Coming One. [50:46]
- 3. Reversal is God’s signature work Isaiah’s language is bold—eyes opening, knees leaping, tongues singing, deserts watering. God is not merely improving conditions; He is undoing what binds and reversing what steals life. Trusting this means we expect transformation where we assumed only maintenance. Grace breaks patterns we thought were permanent. [49:46]
- 4. Your desert is not forsaken The place you least want to be is often the place God chooses to meet you. Advent declares Emmanuel—God with us—inside the ache, not after it. Naming our desert honestly becomes the doorway to encountering presence, not proof of abandonment. God intends bloom right where you stand. [56:47]
- 5. Joy doesn’t trickle; it breaks open Isaiah’s verb for “burst into bloom” is vigorous—joy rips open drought. When God brings life, it does not always arrive politely; it can be disruptive, rearranging our expectations and renewing purpose. Stay attentive to the surprising ways God insists on life in you. Joy is not timid; it is tenacious. [54:42]
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