Tag Archives: hope

Apr 27 2022
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Relationships

where are your sons?

It was a precious question from a curious boy that caught me totally off guard on a sunny afternoon.

“Like, children?”
“Yeah, where are they?”
“Well, I don’t have any yet…”

This sweet moment of curiosity that led to this miniBFF affirming that he would, in fact, be friends with my sons when I have them, but he would also be older than them so we would have to establish that once they could understand, but not when they were babies because babies can’t understand…(this is a runon sentence isn’t it…)

This moment led to a deeper moment about hope.

His mom and I got to talk with him about how I want to marry someone that loves God and wants to do what God says is right. That I want to marry someone who is kind to me and encourages me. And that if he knows of anyone, hook ya gurl up.

He also noted that I probably couldn’t marry his dad. Which is correct. That would be weird.

As he went back to chilling in the sunny April afternoon, his mom and I went in on hope.

How terrible and necessary and terribly necessary it is.
How we can’t live without it, but living with it means opening yourself up to the possibility of earth shattering heartbreak.

Yet.

The hope we have does not put us to shame.
The hope that we have can never be taken away.
The hope that we have is kept in heaven, unfading and undefiled for us.

As someone who walked close by as the thing I hoped for escaped me, she knows how tricky my relationship with hope is.

I don’t like that is necessary.
But I know it’s the only thing I have.
Hope that God is a God of redemption and restoration and resurrection.
Hope that all things will be made new.
Hope that someday I will have a husband and children, so that my miniBFF can have some younger friends to remind how old he is.

On a recent episode of Coffee with Kailey, Annie F. Downs says this about hope: “I’d rather die full of hope and the Lord and I have to look each other in the eyes and be like, ‘Who’s holding this one?’ I would rather be full of hope until the end – which you have to fight for and you have to choose – than to go, ‘You know what, forget it I’m not going to want anymore. Because when you stop wanting food is when you lose nutrition and nutrients and your body wastes away. When we stop our desires, we actually don’t get healthy, we get emaciated. And I can’t do that to my hope. So we’re going to keep feeding hope.”

And that’s it.

I don’t always want to hope. Because it hurts. Anyone who has actually hoped for something and not gotten it will tell you it capital H hurts.

But pretending that I don’t have hope.
Putting my desires in a box that I never intend to open while they gather dust and waste away.

That will kill me.

As Annie said, I’d rather die full of hope and deal with it for all of eternity in the presence of my redemptive Savior than spend my life wasting away.

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Jan 01 2021
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Word of the Year

done with hope

Did my clickbait title get ya?

Before anyone gets too worried, I’m not done with hope in the way that I’m not hopeful. I’m just done with hope as my word of the year.

If you’ve been around for very long (at least a year), you’ve been through my word-of-the-year recap blog. For 2019 and 2020, my word stayed the same: hope. You can read about my 2019 adventure with hope here.

Rather than resolutions, I pick a word or theme for my upcoming year. It typically changes, but for many reasons, last year it stayed the same. A carryover from the year before. Because my hope was different. In 2019 I was hoping for a certain thing. I was expecting a big event to turn my life around. And when I was faced with the thing I hoped for, I realized my hope was misplaced.

While I was tricking myself into thinking my 2019 hope was rooted in the Lord, long story short, it wasn’t. It was rooted in material gain.

And at the end of 2019 I knew I still needed hope, but specifically renewed and restored hope.

I needed honest hope.
I needed hope that wasn’t afraid to admit hopelessness.
I needed hope that could tell others when it was drowning in despair.
I didn’t need hope that just put on a happy face a looked forward to the next great thing.

And that’s what 2020 was about.
Restored and renewed hope.

**Insert quip about a global pandemic here**

For me, 2020 has been difficult, but in a lot of ways it hasn’t. Sure, aspects of my job changed. I didn’t get to spend as much time with my family as I wanted. I wasn’t able to see Hamilton OR Mean Girls live (still grieving those losses).

But on the upside: Friendships grew in holy ways. I set a personal health goal and crushed it. I got a new tattoo as a reminder of how kind the Lord is to me through His people. I welcomed 2 new miniBFFs into the crew and am anxiously awaiting the third. I met with Jesus in more honest and vulnerable places than I ever have before. I let Holy Spirit teach me lessons about my mind, heart, and body that I didn’t know I needed to learn. And I’ve settled into knowing deep in my bones that God is good, He is kind, He is for His people, and I’ll never fully understand Him. And that is okay.

In a lot of ways, this year of hope has felt like a really kind and patient farmer preparing His land for planting. Not harvesting, but planting. He dug up old roots, aerated the soil, mixed in some fertilizer, and is letting the ground lie still for a bit before putting the seed in.

And the main ingredient that will help that seed flourish is hope. Eager expectation that the Good Farmer plants exactly what needs to be planted and cares for the seed until it is done flourishing.

Romans 5:5 says, “And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

Spending 2 years with hope has not put me to shame.
Spending 2 years with hope has consistently reminded me that God’s love is constantly pouring out into His people in the most unexpected places.
Even in the midst of a global pandemic.

I’m ready to see what soil filled with hope will give me in 2021.

Also, I started this blog 7 years ago today. Happy birthday, my friend. I hope 2nd grade is treating you well.

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Jan 01 2020
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Uncategorized

here’s to hoping.

Hoping, like expectation.
Not hopping, like a bunny.

Just want to make sure we’re clear on that.

As shocking as it may seem, 2020 has begun. I don’t know about you, but I definitely didn’t see it coming. This sucker snuck up on me.

And like I’ve done for the past few years, I thought I’d write a recap of my 2019 word of the year. I know you all have been waiting for the last 24 hours for this one.

A year ago, I declared 2019 the year of hope. Romans 5:5 says, “and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

A year ago, I already held a lot of hope for what was to come. I was expecting great things in and around me. I could feel deep in my bones that it was going to be a turning point kind of year, and that I would fully experience the first part of that verse: that my hope would not put me to shame.

In a lot of ways, it didn’t. Babies were born, I went to NYC (by myself, might I brag…), turned 30 and was surprised by the bestest humans on the planet, relationships grew deeper than I could have imagined, and a lot of darkness was brought to light. The love of God was truly poured into my heart, through Holy Spirit and His people.

But in a lot of other ways, 2019 can kick rocks. Brokenness never seemed to take a break, for myself and those I hold dear. In ways that feel both trivial and gigantic at the same time. It was just…well…not hopeful. The tunnel got darker and the light at the end grew dim.

It was the opposite kind of turning point than I had originally thought.

The thing I know to be true in my head: God is kind. God is faithful. God is for His people.
The thing my heart still loses its grip on: hope.

Hope that God is those things.
Hope that I will see His goodness on display in me and for me.
Hope that all that is sad is coming untrue.

And yet…
He is.
I will.
They are.

And that’s exactly why 2020 will, again, be the year of hope. The year that I ask the Lord for restored and renewed hope. The kind of hope I didn’t know I needed a year ago.

At the end of it all, my hope will not put me to shame because it is in the One who defeated shame. The One who chased after the naked man and woman after rebellion and covered them – covered their shame – so that they would feel some sort of safety with themselves and one another. The One who ultimately brought hope to those of us that feel lost and hopeless through Jesus.

See ya never, 2019. But 2020, I’m expecting more from you.

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Mar 02 2017
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The Psalms

psalm 22 (pt. 4)

psalm-22-pt4

But you, O Lord, do not be far off!
O you my help, come quickly to my aid!
Deliver my soul from the sword, my precious life from the power of the dog!
Save me from the mouth of the lion!
You have rescued me from the horns of the wild oxen!
I will tell of your name to my brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you: You who fear the Lord, praise him!
All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him, and stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel!
For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him, but has heard, when he cried to him.

(v19-24)

Remember last week when David was surrounded by many bulls and had no way out? When his heart was like wax?

Well, here we are…at the turning point. Redemption and rescue on the horizon.

David is starting to remember who his God is. He’s remembering that he can call upon the name of the One who is mighty to save – and he will be rescued!

Why does he remember this? Because his God has done it before…

“You have rescued me…”

Have.
Past tense.

And David can trust that this God – the Creator of all – has not despised or recoiled from the affliction of those that are afflicted. That He has not hidden his face from his people.

No.
He has actually heard when we cry to Him.

Man, how many times have my bones felt dried up, my heart like wax, and I just sat in the crap. I’ve been so focused on myself that I’ve forgotten who my God is. I complain and commiserate about my situation and ignore the truth that Yahweh Himself has heard my cry.

I love this section of the psalm – that David has lamented, but is now moving toward praise in who his God is. It is a great reminder for me: it’s okay for me to lament and cry out; in fact, I think God welcomes it. But I also need to listen to the still, small voice saying, “Oh, my child, do you not remember who I am? Do you not remember that I have rescued you before and will do it again?”

I do remember. And praise Him indeed that He has not recoiled from my affliction, but walks with me in it – granting love and mercy all along the way.

Rescue and redemption are on the horizon.

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