I’ve been thinking about hope a lot lately. I just finished an intense season and deep hope is arising inside of me.
For a long time, I didn’t have much sustained hope. Oh, I could have hope for short bursts when I had energy or could see possible solutions, but I didn’t have enough history or skills with my particular struggles to see how Jesus would make me victorious in them even – and especially – when I was weak.
I was young and fresh, so I was on a quick timeline for all the solutions! I might see Him provide, even in dramatic ways, yet I would relapse into hopelessness over the long term when change seemed superficial or minimal. I would pray and pray, but often what I viewed as possible answers would get shut down or pass on by. I put a lot of stock in what I could see and understand.
I often felt powerless about some major components of my life. And therefore, I mostly lacked hope. If I was tired – hopeless. And since I had five kids in 6 years, I was usually tired and frequently hopeless. I felt bound by other people’s choices and convictions and especially by my own. I am still understanding how humans grow and change so much more deeply – and slowly – than almost any other organism or issue on earth.
In the future I envisioned for myself, everything remained the same – except it was always MORE of the same. And since that involved lots of babies, diapers, sleeplessness and feeling disconnected, ashamed and guilty, I often felt super discouraged!
Hope is dangerous. One of the most wounding places to my faith and psyche came when hope began to arise after this long season and got shattered after my husband’s serious car wreck in 2017.
I was getting more and more anxious, even having my first panic attack of sorts as my husband was set to leave for three weeks in October of 2017. Always in the past I’d loved having a few weeks to myself (of sorts ha!) My body and emotions were exhausted, and they were trying to tell me in any way they could.
While he came back under disappointing circumstances for his career, it seemed wonderful to me because we had a stretch of a few months with low stress and lots of free time! My exhausted body could get some rest, and he wanted to help me pursue some of my long-put off interests and just generally prioritize me and our family. We had lots of trips planned in the New Year, and I had so much hope that I could finally prioritize myself instead of his career and desires.
But in early December, I got a call that my husband had been air-lifted to the hospital. When I arrived, I was told it was “only” a mild traumatic brain injury (given the wreck he was in his life was a miracle!) – and I was given guidance he shouldn’t drive for a week. All my Christmas plans, spring plans and everything remained in place. This was just a temporary setback and he would rest and recover, right?
But the slow drip of reality came that things were not alright with him, that once again – except even more – I was a caregiver, now for my husband as well as my children. There would be no Christmas trip, only one spring trip with his parents in case we needed help. There certainly might need to be a job change, or, a scenario I thought possible at some points, I would need to go back to work as a primary breadwinner.
There was less rest, more stress and pain and confusion. I eventually realized I needed medication to help me cope since I had no good options left to care for myself over the long-term. That was an excellent choice for me for that season, and it remains a tool I can go back to if needed.
While it took a year for his brain to fully heal, and much of what I envisioned or feared never happened (he was able to recover in time to get selected for the job he wanted and has a flourishing career Praise the Lord!), it is taking me a long time to heal from the trauma and I’m still making major life adjustments to find my place of flourishing. I want it to be so simple – he’s better, we are ok, I’m ok – but it’s not.
One key element of that was the killing of my hope in a season when I desperately needed it. A part of me died when I realized we had a long road ahead of us. It seemed to me life – and God therefore – was telling me there was no hope I could ever be anything other than a caregiver and an emotionally and physically exhausted woman. Something unforeseen would always happen to interrupt my dreams and ability to rest was the message carved deep into my body and soul.
That message carved deeper as we started an overdue house repair in 2018 that turned into 9 months of mess and poor leadership. Once that finished, we took a short-term leadership position in our beloved church right before it dramatically fell apart in ways we were mostly powerless to affect.
There were beautiful graces throughout. I still can’t figure out how we ate for 2.5 months without a kitchen and I rejoice at the fun we were able to have as a family during recovery (think lots of Chuck-e-Cheese!!). God’s Spirit was heavily with me from the moment I drove to the hospital. Yet underneath lurked doubt, fear, hypervigilance about the future. What would fall apart next? How could I possibly hold it together?
We can gloss over that Christ’s birth came 400 years after the last prophet spoke to the Jews. Hope for a Messiah had been long delayed. And when He came, He didn’t accomplish what had been expected. He died. Israel and Jerusalem were not freed from Roman rule. In many ways, nothing externally seemed to change.
Experiencing delay and confusing answers to my prayers and hopes isn’t new to me. It’s the gospel story. The death of my hopes leads to need for a Resurrection, the need for a deeper relationship with One who said, “I am the Resurrection and the Life” to a woman in the throes of grieving the loss of her brother AND the loss of hope that Jesus would show up to heal before the death.
The Root of Jesse will spring up,
one who will arise to rule over the nations;
in him the Gentiles will hope.
As we look to the hope of a new year, of fresh starts, of vaccines and coronavirus restrictions lifting, we must remember that we can’t push delete with painful memories. Only awareness of the impact of the old and true acceptance of loss and death can make room for a new future. Jesus said, the One who believes in Me will live, even though they die. Hope is not the avoidance of death.
When has hope died in your life? What was lost? What would you want if that hadn’t happened? I encourage all of us to take time to sit with old memories and invite Jesus into those memories and ask where He was and what He has to say to us about them. With whatever comes up, we can pray for the Holy Spirit to come as a Comforter and Restorer of Streets to Dwell In.
13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13
