I hear creation groaning for what it cannot see; a cry of ancient longing for dreams to be set free. How long by patient waiting can nature bear the pain of labor culminating in Eden born again? The clock is ticking slowly: when will this future live? We, too, ache for tomorrow and pray for some relief. Sharp pangs remind of promise as if to let us know the hour of God is nearing when new from old will grow. All saints and earth together begin the natal song. A world is in the making where you and I belong. The urge keeps growing stronger: the birthing has begun. Our focus will sustain us. The best is yet to come.