When tired hearts begin to hope

“I’m exhausted.”“Eish, I’m tired.”“Yeah, I’m hanging in there.”“End-of-year fatigue is killing me.”

These are all responses I’ve heard lately when I’ve asked the classic, “How are you doing?”

So many people I speak to are in that tired phase of the year.

The interesting thing about this time is that, while it carries the weight of exhaustion, it also hums with quiet excitement. We talk about the plans we’ve made — travels with family, time with friends, a long-awaited break, or simply a few days where nothing is scheduled. The body is tired, but the heart is yearning. The soul longs for something more than the work–weekend–repeat cycle we so easily fall into.

It’s an odd tension to live in — weary, yet expectant. Counting down the days, but also feeling too drained to keep going. Wanting rest, but still longi

ng to finish well.

And maybe that tension isn’t just about the calendar. Maybe it’s something deeper.Perhaps what you’re feeling is the quiet pull of Advent.

Advent is not merely a season on the church calendar; it is a sacred journey that has been observed for centuries by followers of Jesus around the world. It invites us into a rhythm of waiting, watching, and longing for light to pierce through darkness. As the days grow longer and the nights shorter, Advent reminds us of a deeper hope — one that shines in the midst of uncertainty and fatigue. It is a time when communities gather, hearts open, and the quiet anticipation of what is to come fills the air.

There is something profoundly human about this rhythm. As we approach the end of the year, many of us find ourselves caught between exhaustion and hopefulness. We reflect on what has been — the challenges faced, the joys celebrated, the burdens carried — and we recognize how much of ourselves we’ve given. Yet somehow, we remain open to what still lies ahead.

Advent reminds us that God meets us in the in-between: in unfinished work, in quiet longing, and in the depths of our fatigue when we feel we have little left to give. It is in this sacred pause that we truly encounter the divine.

Remember the tree in Psalm 1 — it reminds us that we do not always have to force fruit to appear in every season of our lives. Sometimes, simply staying rooted is a profound act of faith. Growth is happening even when it’s not visible. Just as the tree draws nourishment from the soil, trusting that new life is forming beneath the surface, we too can rest in the truth that God is at work within us, nurturing and preparing us for what is to come.

So if you find yourself in that strange space — both weary and hopeful — perhaps this is exactly where you’re meant to be. Maybe this is your invitation into Advent: to come to Jesus, to take up His yoke, and to learn from Him anew.

This invitation is for every Christ-follower in every century.And in our moment, it may carry precisely the hope we need — to move toward Advent with honesty about our fatigue, and yet with open hearts to the small glimmer of light breaking through, heralding the coming of the One we wait for again.