I'm curious what the word "hope" means to people. I'm not gonna do the cheesy go-around-the-room-and-tell-your-experience game, but generally speaking, I'm thinking "hope", as a word, has an effect on people. Some may say "hope" is this gushy word associated with God and unicorns in green pastures and doesn't fall into the realistic category all that well.
(Those people are the ones afraid to cry in public.)
Others might have this soul-jolting connection with "hope" that gives them every reason to wake in the morning because of the life they have lived and the incredible story they have to tell.
(Those people cry a lot in public.)
Nowadays, if someone hears the word "hope" they might even see Obama's whole political campaign flash through their brain. But this blog isn't about any of those people, cuz I'm not them. This blog is about me... (Isn't it always?)
The type of "hope" person I am is this: If I begin hoping for something, it creates an obsession which turns into something painful which turns into disappointment. Doesn't sound all that appealing huh? I'd take the Obama campaign reference over my weird understanding of "hope".
I'm obviously going to explain myself on my dot-to-dot connection between hope, obsession and pain. So, don't go anywhere.
A year and a half ago-ish, I was struggling to find a job. My health was a mess. And I had quite a few other things weighing me down over the blessings I should have been strong enough to count. I felt like nothing went right. Nothing voted in my favor. And maybe I will go so far as to say, I felt like God was picking on me. Maybe not "picking on me", but at least neglecting me or more practically speaking, I felt like God was giving me a dose of reality. Ya know, making me play the hand I had dealt myself. Hope to me wasn't much of a word because everything I "hoped" for was a NECESSITY that I wasn't getting (job to pay bills, health enough to function...). It wasn't like I was able to go into "dream mode" and think of the amazing possibilities. I was just thankful that I could get out of bed long enough to keep the house clean, feed Zoe and enter the painful process of applying for jobs I didn't really want and probably wouldn't get an interview for anyway. (I sound like quite the drag eh?)
Life to me was this painful, tiring chore I had no other option than to just keep doing.
I felt guilty for wallowing, trust me on that, because there were people all around me trudging through hard things too- and they seemed to be doing just fine. I felt even more guilty that I wasn't fine, that I wasn't strong enough to just pull it together.
I had amazing friends who really got creative in trying to bring me out of my slump and remind me that God does provide, and that all things work out they way they are supposed to. But still- those words "provide" and "work out" didn't make sense when I was jobless, weak and completely discouraged. I mean- granted, I had a place to live and I still had my car. But does it count calling it "provided for" when you have to borrow unrepayable amounts of money from your relatives just to live? (Today, I do actually know the answer to that question, but back then- I cried over that horrible way of getting by--- in other words, it was difficult being on the humble end of a blessing or two.)
The thing is- I wasted that whole time crying and resenting the fact that I wasn't getting provided for "for reals"- that all the people who were there to jump in and bless me, ironically JUST WHEN I NEEDED IT, were taken for granted.
And worse, the entire experience didn't shine with the great wisdom extracted from the journey. Instead, pain built upon pain built upon disappointment cemented itself deep down. I caught myself thinking "it's about freakin' time, God" a lot. (I needed a lesson on gratefulness too, but thankfully that lesson was held off on. haha)
How hard would it have been for God to have just given me a job? Or just given me a break? I asked those questions a lot. And, over and over, I got the silent answer of random blessings to keep me going. When I look back, I'm shocked at how perfectly I was provided for, how flawlessly God moved me forward, even when I was kicking and screaming. I accused Him of NOT doing what He actually WAS doing. (Hindsight is the perfect portal to viewing my immaturity.)
The other day, I caught myself hoping for something. And with that "hope", I also recognized the trailing feeling of painful obsession. Becoming so destined to GET IT and then becoming so disappointed when IT didn't come the exact way I had hoped. I remembered how often that feeling had come up in the past. And that is when I stopped myself, and the thought popped into my head, "what if hope is not about designing the perfect outcome, but becoming so vulnerable to the future with your dreams in hand that God is allowed to work some serious magic? What if hope wasn't a painful thing, but a transforming thing?" It sounds so obvious, so rudimentary. Like of course hope isn't supposed to be a painful ordeal! Of course hoping should allow God to see your dreams and then lead you directly toward a REAL demonstration of that dream. But to me, it sounded kinda epiphany-like.
If I hope, I will hope open mindedly. If I am open minded, I will learn. If I learn while I hope, I will grow. When I grow, I will see my hopes automatically woven into the path I'm naturally walking. I like this kind of hope. It's natural, simple. It has no obsessive strings and no past of disappointment dragging behind it.
It's free.
It's limitless.
The way hope was intended to be.
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