Advent has always been a season of anticipation, but this year it feels a little more personal. The Church’s liturgy invites us into the darkness that precedes the dawn, and for many of us, darkness is exactly where our deepest questions come alive. Especially as a Catholic woman navigating discernment, desire, and the ache of the “not yet,” Advent has become a mirror. It reflects the longing I carry for clarity in my vocation and the longing the whole Church carries for Christ.
This is not the kind of waiting that feels passive. It is a waiting that forms us. The Catechism teaches that Advent renews “the ancient expectancy of the Messiah” and “makes present the salvation wrought by Christ” (CCC 524). In other words, waiting is not a delay, but preparation.
And it is precisely here that the Lord has begun teaching me something about what it means to be a woman who waits, and who waits well.
Somewhere along the way, I began using the phrase “God willing” as a sort of soft buffer around my hopes, especially when it came to my future vocation. If I get married, God willing. If I meet my husband someday, God willing. It felt pious, but it was also a way of preparing myself for disappointment, just in case.
Except Scripture and the Church do not portray God as a Father who is vague or indifferent. He is the One who knit us together, who remembers us, who knows the desires of our hearts and shapes them toward the good (Ps 139, Is 49, CCC 1769).
So why do I talk like God might “accidentally” forget the deepest longings of my heart?
In his Letter to Women, St. John Paul II writes that a woman has a unique capacity to perceive the person with her heart. He calls this the feminine genius. It is a spiritual intuition that is receptive, relational, embodied, and fiercely oriented toward love.
Which means the longings of a woman’s heart are not an inconvenience to God. They are part of the design.
Waiting can sometimes feel like wandering. I do not love it. I like answers. I like control. I like knowing what exactly God is doing behind the scenes. But Advent is the Church’s yearly reminder that God does His most transformative work in silence.
Israel waited generations for the Messiah. Mary waited in Nazareth for the Word to become flesh in her womb. The Church waits even now for the return of Christ in glory. Grace seems to prefer the hidden places, doesn’t it?

And so I asked the Lord to show me what He was doing in the quiet spaces of my own heart. In prayer, I kept sensing His tenderness. A deliberate and delicate gentleness toward me as His daughter. This is something the Church affirms constantly. God does not deal with us according to our fears. He deals with us according to our dignity.
In adoration, I could hear Jesus saying to me: “Just be still, and let me love you.”
St. John Paul II writes that women are entrusted with the human person in a special way. This entrustment is not simply about motherhood. It is about the way a woman carries life in her heart. It is why our emotions run deep and why they matter. It is why our desires feel so intensely woven into us. It is how God made us.
And in that realization, something else became clear: I had become so focused on chasing my vocation that I forgot the point of vocation itself. It is not something pursued ahead of God. It is the very path through which God draws us deeper into Himself.
The Catechism says that the desire for God is written in the human heart and that every vocation flows from this desire (CCC 27, 1700). How wonderfully intentional is the Lord!
And so, the truth had settled: God is not indifferent to my waiting.
Jesus tells us that the Father numbers every hair on our heads (Mt 10:30). The Psalms tell us that He collects every tear (Ps 56:8). St. Paul says that even when we do not know how to pray, the Spirit groans our desires for us (Rom 8:26).
Hope is not naïve optimism. It is a theological virtue. Hope trusts that God is faithful to His promises even when circumstances look silent or slow.
So, yes, ladies, you are allowed to hope for your vocation. You are allowed to pray boldly, persistently, and honestly. Jesus Himself invites us to pray without ceasing and to keep knocking because the Father loves to give good gifts (Lk 18:1, Mt 7:7)!
And if Esther needed twelve months of preparation before being presented to the king, who are we to assume our own preparation should be instant? Your waiting is never wasted. Trust that God knows what He is doing.
Women feel deeply. Being a woman often means being both gentle and strong, sometimes in the same breath. When disappointment or uncertainty rises, it is easy to think that being sad or “feeling all the feels” means we are failing spiritually. But that is not Christian teaching.

The Church teaches that suffering united to Christ can become redemptive (CCC 618). It becomes a place of encounter. Jesus is saying to you, “Just be still, and let me love you.”
My own hurt this season has revealed to me that my heart is alive and well and capable. And in that bittersweetness, I kept hearing Mary’s fiat echoing through the Gospel:
I am the handmaid of the Lord; Let it be done unto me according to your word.
This year, Mary’s words have become my go-to Advent prayer: “Lord, let it be done unto me.” The waiting, the uncertainty, the silence, the disappointments, the hurt, the longing. I bring it all to You. Jesus, if this is Your will, if this is Your plan, I want it. Let it happen in me. I trust that You are working something good within me. Jesus, take care of everything.
If you are in a season of longing or uncertainty, know this: Your God delights in you simply because you exist. Before you ever chose Him, He had already chosen you. He is more invested in your story than you can ever fully comprehend. He is never late. He is never distracted. He is never withholding what you truly need.
“Look at the sparrows… consider the lilies.” If God pays such attention to the birds and in dressing the fields, how much more intentional will He be with you, His daughter? The One who colors the foliage each autumn, who orchestrates every sunset and every tide, also shapes the ins and outs of your life with the same intricate care.
Live, my sister in Christ, as one who is deeply loved, because you are! Your God humbled Himself into a small host to share real, tangible intimacy with you here on earth. From the beginning, God created woman as the crescendo of His creative song, the living expression of His artistry and affection. Let your life echo that truth.
You were made for this moment in salvation history. As St. Joan of Arc proclaimed, “I am not afraid. I was born for this.” And so were you.
As always, music often accompanies my prayer. These songs have helped a lot in shaping my reflection and resting in the sweetness of the Father’s love:
For more from St. John Paul II on the dignity and mission of women:
This Advent season, dare to hope! Nothing is impossible with God.“May Mary, Queen of Love, watch over women and their mission in service of humanity, of peace, of the spread of God’s Kingdom!”
— St. John Paul II

With over eight years of experience and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing, Marge Hynes is a dynamic writer whose portfolio spans SEO-driven copywriting, journalism, and marketing—a versatile skill set that allows her to craft compelling content for Paloma & Fig’s projects.
Marge’s Catholic faith serves as the cornerstone of her work. She approaches storytelling with thoughtfulness and a deep appreciation for the Lord’s own creative power. Her love of the written word shines through in every project, helping clients articulate their message with clarity, heart, and purpose.
When she’s not writing, Marge can be found leading praise and worship, diving into theological books, or exploring the great outdoors with her loyal dog, Augustine (Auggie for short).
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