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Every year on December 1, my family sits around the table and opens the first box of our Lego Advent Calendar. This year we will be building Minecraft characters alongside our seasonal devotional, a reminder of expectantly waiting our Savior’s birth. And yes, I know, technically, this doesn’t follow the liturgical calendar for advent, but in a house as full as ours, we get as close as we can! I love that our advent season begins with tiny plastic bricks and kids negotiating who gets the minifigure, because even in this small and imperfect practice we are moving slowly, one day at a time, toward something promised but not yet fully revealed.

That’s really what advent is—a season of expectant wait. We wait for Christmas like Isreal waited for their Messiah. We spend our time preparing to experience joy with our family and friends through our decorating, gathering, and celebrating.

But for many, Advent also might come wrapped in pain. I think about how the prophets spoke of a coming Messiah while living in exile, crying out for justice and mercy in a world that seemed absent of both. Even David cried out in Psalm 13, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?”

One particular pain many people will struggle with this Christmas season is mental illness—a struggle that is often invisible to those around them. A recent study found that nearly 1 in 10 U.S. adults experienced a mental-health crisis in the past year. [1] Another study reports that approximately 20% of youth ages 12-17 experience a mental health diagnosis [2] and suicide is a leading cause of death in people between the ages of 10-34. [3] Housing instability, financial stress and loneliness only intensify the struggle and these problems aren’t just abstract ideas, they are experienced by our friends, church members, co-workers, our own children.

Like many social problems, mental health struggles not only impact the patient but bleed into the family unit: when one suffers the whole unit suffers. This concept, known as holism, recognizes that individuals cannot be understood in isolation from the systems and relationships they’re part of, but our emotional, spiritual, and social well-being are deeply intertwined.

When a loved one is hurting, the entire family feels the weight of that pain. Routines shift, roles change, and communication can become strained. Parents may carry anxiety for a struggling child; children may carry confusion or fear when a parent seems withdrawn.

In a time that is supposed to be filled with festivity, many feel overwhelmed, numb, or deeply alone. The family can become stretched and weary, and yet, in that tension, there also lies hope. Advent meets us right there, in lives marked by longing.

Advent invites us to acknowledge both the ache and the hope. As we light candles week by week (or build our Lego masterpieces), we remember that Christ entered a world full of brokenness, not to erase suffering immediately, but to bring us light. For families walking through mental health struggles this season, that light might look like small acts of grace: an encouraging conversation, a shared meal, or coffee with a friend.

Advent invites us to acknowledge both the ache and the hope. As we light candles week by week (or build our Lego masterpieces), we remember that Christ entered a world full of brokenness, not to erase suffering immediately, but to bring us light. For families walking through mental health struggles this season, that light might look like small acts of grace: an encouraging conversation, a shared meal, or coffee with a friend.

Luke 2:7 reminds us that Mary “gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.” I imagine this was a trying time for the young couple. Mary was uncomfortable, experienced the pain of childbirth, and probably carried a weight of uncertainty for her future. But she also carried the Savior of the world. She expectantly and joyfully waited for His birth.

As Christians, are we not also a people in waiting? We wait for healing. We wait for justice. We wait for peace. And our waiting is not wasted. So many before us have waited through suffering. In Psalm 27 David declares that the Lord is his light and cries out, “Be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!”

When we light the Advent candles this season, may we not deny the pain, but proclaim that Christ has entered it. As we prepare our hearts to experience joy together in the coming King and in the communion we share with Him, may we also remember and care for those who wait in suffering, including individuals and families impacted by mental health struggles. May they, too, find God’s light breaking through the darkness. And may we remember that God is Emmanuel, God with us—even in the waiting, the weariness, and the suffering—and that His faithfulness holds us all.

References:

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