…wrote the following several years ago now about the hope we cling to which flies in the face of logic, hangs on through utter despair, and refuses to die in spite of the most trying of circumstances.
Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? ~Romans 8:24b, ESV
Your situation is bleak and the outlook is grim. The prognosis is terminal—no way and no how, not now, not later, never. Slim to none and slim just left town, not a snow balls chance in a sauna. And the only light you see at the end the tunnel appears to be a freight train.
I wrote that to myself sitting smack dab in the middle of a coffee shop one afternoon in December of 2005, a few months after my divorce was final.
Have you ever hoped in a wish? Have you ever had the gnawing feeling that you were playing in a football game in which your team was down 45-0 with less than two minutes remaining and your star quarterback was on the sidelines with a broken throwing arm? You were down to put it mildly, and you knew better than anyone that you were out a long while ago. You had just wished somebody would have put you out of your misery sooner. Have you ever sensed that something was so hopeless that it was beyond God’s help? Have you ever run out of out of ideas about how to stave off the inevitable?
Possibly your best laid plans exploded in your face, your most ardent efforts to redeem a disaster evaporated into thin air, and your schemes to rectify a dire situation backfired. Has it ever seemed that the prayers you have prayed longer than you can begin to remember went unheard—or unanswered at best? Have you ever felt like your life was over, and that your only logical course of action at that juncture was to not only throw in the towel but to throw in everything else including the kitchen sink? Many of us have been at a place where we reached the end of our rope and when we got there, no knot was at the end to grab hold of.
Maybe you have been fighting the heavyweight champion of the world as a flyweight. You’ve been pummeled, landed on the canvas twenty seconds into the first round, and after an eight count you couldn’t see the gloves at the ends of your arms. And somehow, just somehow, you still want to fight. Are you nuts?
Those of us who still believe are not alone even though the lights are out and everyone has gone home and turned in for the evening. The fat lady has sung. God is all we have left now, and even God has to be off his rocker to believe that our crazy prayer could become anything reminiscent of a reality. For some of us, it is so bad that we have even tried to kill the faintest flicker of hope that remains just to rid ourselves of the grizzly emotional torture. Our most played song for months now on our ipod has been the classic Eagles tune, “Get over it”. We feel the need to break free of our unrealistic hopes in an effort to just get realistic. But the hope won’t be killed. It lingers and whispers into our ears, It haunts us. It bleeds into our souls as it refuses to die. It’s well past midnight and for some crazy unseen reason we don’t think it’s too late, despite not a shred of good news. Blind optimism. Ridiculous faith. We have lost our minds.
God surely couldn’t use our five loaves and two fish to feed five thousand. But somewhere in the recesses of our heart hope remains. Do we forget that Lazarus was stinky and a stone cold stiff for an entire four days before Jesus showed up on the scene? According to Lazarus’ sisters, Jesus was supposed to show up way before it got that dire, but it wasn’t until after what must have seemed like a small eternity that the mourners found out that Jesus raises the dead. You see, David had no chance against Goliath. Our tiny pebble seems much too little for the giants we face.
They say it’s darkest just before the morning comes and I’ve learned that it’s when our hope in God seems gone that it actually is most alive. Olympic great Eric Liddell wrote, ”Circumstances may appear to wreck our lives and God’s plans, but God is not helpless among the ruins.”
Hope may seem crazy because it isn’t based on what we see.
Hope is based in who we believe.
2 Comments
October 13, 2009 at 7:29 pm
I have read this at least four or five times now and I get something new out of it everytime I read it.
Thank you!
October 13, 2009 at 8:00 pm
I remember writing this and where I was (a Starbucks in Franklin Tennessee) when I wrote this—at a time when all of my hope seemed gone and all I had anymore was despair. You’re welcome Lori.