For most of us, waiting for Christmas is a cosily familiar routine. In the first of her reflections for Advent, Theodora Hawksley reminds us it can also be a time of terrifying uncertainty

As a child, Christmas meant car journeys. Most years we would make the long trip up from Hertfordshire to Cumbria, where my grandparents lived in a house in the woods at the top of a hill. I loved these journeys. Packed into the car with bags and dogs, we drove through the countryside in the dark, warm and secure, waiting for the familiar landmarks that told us we were nearing our destination: the sign for the South Lakes, the long dry-stone wall, the “Toads crossing” road sign.

More than once, I remember looking out of the car window over dark hedgerows at the winter sun setting, red and dramatic, and wondering: what if that was the second coming of Jesus, happening away over there? What would it be like? What would happen to all of us?