This is the first Christmas in 35 years—my entire life—that I won’t be with my mother, father and older brother for Christmas.

Ansgar Holmberg, C.S.J., 86, didn’t paint her O Antiphon series to edify or instruct anyone. They were meant only for herself.

Perhaps this Advent, which will probably feel a lot more like Lent, I will finally learn that good waiting is a grace, one that hinges on realizing that the arrival does not depend on my vaunted stage-managing powers.

This is not the year—or the Christmas—we wanted. But God is still with us, and we can still reach out to our neighbors.

I commend you. I sympathize. I need your advice.

Why is it this way? It is the child’s most basic question, dealing with the most bewildering thing of all.