My Hope Ring

My favorite thing about jewelry is its history and meaning. Even when you buy it for yourself, it's often to celebrate an occasion. In this new series, I'll tell the stories of some of my most meaningful jewelry! The logical place to start is with my favorite piece - my Hope ring.

Sometime in 2002 (or 2003, I'm not sure), I was browsing the Pauline Catholic bookstore, probably for a gift for one of my Catholic BFFs. On my way to the register, I noticed a display of simple silver bands engraved with FAITH, HOPE, and LOVE. They were clearly meant to be worn as a set. I loved the idea, but couldn't afford all three (I could barely afford milk at the time). After a few minutes' pondering, I decided on HOPE. I think my reasoning was that if I was going to wear one of the three graces, hope was the one I needed reminding of the most.

Well, I still need that constant reminder on my hand. In fact, if I ever get a tattoo, it should probably be hope-related.

Over the past ten-plus years, my Hope ring has symbolized so many different hopes. Some were fulfilled, some faded away, some came true and then untrue. Some still sit there, unchanged. But the ring is my common thread. It reminds me of the source of my hopes, and my ultimate hope. It's my talisman. It's not fancy or flashy, just solid and reliable. I can wear it everywhere and it never wears out.


But this I call to mind, 
and therefore I have hope: 
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; 
his mercies never come to an end; 
they are new every morning; 
great is your faithfulness. 
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, 
“therefore I will hope in him.”
   - Lamentations 3:21-24

The Redemption of the King

The book of I Samuel has always been one of my favorites in the Bible – I've read it many, many times. I love Hannah the mother of Samuel, and the entire story of David. I recently revisited I Samuel in an attempt to get consistent with personal Bible reading. (It hasn't been very successful, but that's not the point of this post.)

Starting in my early 20s, I felt very convicted by I Samuel 8, the story of Israel demanding a king. I'm not entirely clear on why it was wrong for Israel to want to be ruled by a king instead of prophets/judges (especially since that system wasn't working out so well), but from what I can tell, it involved sinful motivations and pursuit of the wrong things. They told the prophet Samuel that they wanted a king "like all the other nations," and God saw it as a rejection of Himself. So He told Samuel to give them what they wanted, but to warn them of the sacrifices and oppression that a king would bring.

This story always brought to mind my persistent prayers for a husband, and specifically my prayers for a relationship with my ex, who was just a good friend at the time. No one ever drew that correlation for me, but it was very clear in my mind. Since nothing was happening, I felt like I was badgering God for something He might not want to give me, and maybe I was supposed to say "All I need is God" and leave it alone. Even once I was married, the comparison nagged at me. After my divorce, I came upon the story again. I thought about the hard work and suffering of my marriage, a marriage I had already prayed and wept over years before it began. I thought, Yep. That's what I get for "demanding a king." I don't even believe everything that this interpretation implies, and realize that a complex historical story and a normal desire for a spouse are apples and oranges. Yet I continued to feel vaguely guilty anyway. When I arrived at that chapter again last week, I re-read it with some trepidation. But as I continued reading, I suddenly saw something brand new. God ran with what was already in my head and showed me the rest of the story.

Israel wanted a king regardless of the consequences, so God chose Saul to lead them. Saul's rule began well, but it became clear that loving and serving God wasn't a priority in his life. Saul disobeyed God in a big way on several occasions, and when the prophet Samuel called him on it, he tried to backpedal. When he finally acknowledged his sin, it was out of fear and desperation not to lose what he had. In response, God regretted making Saul king, and removed him from the throne.

Samuel grieved deeply for Saul's actions, Saul himself, and his own role in the whole situation (even though he'd tried to honor God throughout). But after he'd mourned for a while, God said to him:

“How long will you grieve over Saul, since I have rejected him from being king over Israel? Fill your horn with oil, and go. 
I will send you to Jesse the Bethlehemite, for I have provided for myself a king among his sons.” 

Even if you're not a religious person, you probably know that this son of Jesse was David, the star of the Old Testament. David was far from perfect. He committed many sins and blunders, and his reign wasn't free of disasters. But he was a man after God's own heart, chosen to bless Israel with his many skills and talents and point them to God in all he did. (He also happened to be charismatic and handsome. ;))

God could have ended the royal line with Saul, or left Saul in power and let things fall apart as punishment for Israel. Instead, He intervened and gave them David. So, within my flawed interpretation of this whole story, maybe He has a David for me too. God might not intend for me to marry again, and if that's the case, my life can still be happy and fruitful. But from now on, when I feel erroneous guilt about the path my life has taken, or am grieving unhealthily over things long past, I'll remind myself of God's abundant grace and mercy even in Plan B situations. I'll remember that I am free. Then I'll pray for a man after God's own heart, fill my horn with oil, and go.

Good Friday

We Christians are supposed to spend Good Friday dwelling on how much Jesus suffered to cleanse us from our sins. Yes, His suffering was immeasurable, but we often lose sight of why He went through it – "for the joy set before Him." Not purely for suffering's sake, or to grudgingly make a way for us hopelessly sinful humans. It was His joy to mend the gap and reconcile us to His Father. Jesus had motives. His happiness is tied up in ours. He wasn't robotically going through the motions of His difficult purpose on earth – He gladly persevered because the fruits of His labor were guaranteed.

This has been the winter of my discontent. The "sufferings" in my life are pretty frivolous compared to what millions of people currently deal with, but they are still real, slowly wearing me down as all sufferings do. Usually, if I have assurance of some eventual purpose or payoff (sometimes even if I'm not the beneficiary of it), I can endure things for a long time. What's finally sent me off the rails and into the swamp of despair is a loss of purpose. For a variety of reasons, my "thorns" don't seem to have any point or positive effect anymore. I fear that they'll just keep weakening me until I'm useless to God, virtually laying on the floor crying out to Him all the time instead of out serving and accomplishing for Him, and my life will count for nothing. The end.

No one can stand up for long under that kind of hopelessness, and I don't think we're meant to, because even Jesus didn't. Even Jesus, the only perfectly holy person who ever lived, didn't suffer in a vacuum. He had His eyes on the prize, and God infused meaning into everything He did. That gives me a renewed confidence in God's sovereignty over our circumstances. Over the last few years, I've often felt doomed in certain ways because our world is just so messed up. I've pictured God shrugging sympathetically and saying "Sorry, kiddo. Fallen world." But on this Good Friday, I feel reassured that our suffering is not some crazy random happenstance, just the byproduct of a fallen world. Even when there's no evidence, God still has a purpose and will be glorified in all of it. Jesus needed motivation to endure, and God knows that we do too. Jesus' motives on the cross – love for us, love for His Father – should be ours too. As my pastor said last night at Maundy Thursday service, "If these joys are good enough for Jesus, they are good enough for you."

We can rest and know that no matter what's happening or not happening in our lives, if we are God's, He loves us and is pleased with us. He loves us so much that He sent His Son to die for our sins. And in the words of a famous preacher whose name I can't remember – SUNDAY'S COMING.

Abundance

Even though I'm a Christian, my perspective on life can veer shockingly karma-ward. It's so subtle that I didn't start noticing it until a few months ago. Left to my own devices, I believe in a balance to the universe, a mystical, sacrificial bargaining philosophy (well expressed in several Florence + The Machine songs). I've had unbidden thoughts like, Well, if only I or [person I love] could have [good thing she has that I don't], I'm glad it was her. Like there are limits and no good can come to anyone without someone else paying the piper.

This belief might romanticize our sufferings, or help us feel like we have some control over them. But it's completely unbiblical.

I think I know where some of it comes from, though. One of the most brilliant parts of Daring Greatly (sorry I'm not sorry for still talking about this book) is Brene Brown's observation that we live in a culture of scarcity. We have a gut instinct that there's not enough of anything – food, land, love, blessings – to go around, so we scrape and claw for whatever we can get, and once we have it, we defend it ferociously. It affects every aspect of our being. It's part of why we live by checks and balances and have such a hard time understanding grace.

The fact is, we serve a God of abundance, not scarcity. His resources are limitless, and Jesus paid for everything – our sins and everything else – on the cross. He balanced the books forever. None of us deserve blessings, but they're all free and God can pour them out on us as much as He chooses. While writing this, I did a search for "abundant" on Bible Gateway and got 46 results, most of them in connection with God's provision for His people. I don't believe in prosperity theology, but I could use more reminders that God's default setting is abundance (non-materially speaking). His goodness, peace, joy, and love are available to me abundantly. In the meantime, if He denies me good things, He's not just doing it for fun.

Throughout her great book The Allure of Hope, Jan Meyers uses the allegory of a person sitting down to a glorious meal of all her favorite things, prepared by a joyful, talented chef. The person is filled with happy anticipation, but just before the meal is served, she's suddenly escorted down a hall and into a dark, cold alley. The door shuts behind her, and she's left alone. She pounds on the door, but no one comes to let her back in. She tries to make sense of what's happened, convinced that she must have imagined the kindness and good intentions of the chef. It's an unusual allegory, but the picture it paints is very powerful (to me, anyway) and provides a lot of angles for reflection. Today it reminds me that even if I feel like I'm in the alley at the moment and no one is coming to the door, the feast is still inside and the Chef is still in charge. He's not presiding over an empty table, but one full of good things. And whenever the door opens, even though my hands are empty, I can partake with joy without washing any dishes.

Seasons of Life

A friend recently told me about a women's retreat workshop she attended, Seasons of Life. The speaker, an older woman, just shared her story and how God worked in the different stages of her life, dropping threads and later picking them up again. After the typical life chapters of young wifehood and then motherhood, she went back to college for a doctorate and found a fulfilling career later in life! My friend and I were both encouraged by the reminder that all of our lives have seasons, even if they're more subtle for some of us. It's sometimes difficult for me to grasp this as a single, childless woman with no outside forces acting upon me. For parents, the seasonality of life is very present because children grow up more every day. They create an environment of constant change and adaptation, and a path for your life to follow. Certain careers or situations can have the same effect. But when you're living the same routines and going to the same job for years upon years, no one coming into your life to shake it up, no one further ahead to show you the way, it starts to feel permanent. As well as I know the importance of perspective – that nothing, good or bad, is forever – lately I feel like, Well, this is it. For better or worse, this is my life. For the next fifty years or however long God deems my life to be.

I have an innate need for security and spurn change for change's sake, but the suggestion that this is it has been depressing. For maybe the first time, I'm kind of itching for a change – a positive one, I'm quick to point out to God and the universe. Not, like, a death or layoff or a move to another continent. Not necessarily a huge change, because I'm happy with many things in my life. Just something new and exciting. Some advancement. In the past month or so, I've briefly considered getting a roommate, going back to school for an MFA, and moving into the city to live closer to my friends, among other things. Borderline crazy risks by my standards. None of those things are going to happen (at least anytime soon), but my desire to make these moves even briefly was a neon sign that something is really lacking in my life. I can't do much to bring about the things I really want, so I'm casting around for something I can do. I just feel stuck.

My Sunday school class is studying Elijah right now, and last week's lesson was about Elijah at the brook of Cherith. How it didn't make sense for God, who had just called Elijah to do big things, to send him into the desert where he would be isolated and totally dependent on God for his survival. Personally, I feel like I've been sitting at the brook of Cherith for a long time, slowly watching it dry up, and I've really had enough of the place. I increasingly wonder whether God has forgotten that I'm out here, if I should just build a house and settle in. God has good reasons for desert times of waiting, and I don't want to waste them, but I need some reassurance that the waiting will eventually end and be fruitful and worth it. I wish I was holy enough not to need that, but there you go.

Thankfully, I have found some comfort in Isaiah 49. Confession: sometimes I have trouble taking the promises of the Bible to heart. I'll think, This verse probably applies only to a specific group of Israelites from thousands of years ago, and not to me at all. But when I read Isaiah 49 this week, I knew God was speaking to me.

Can a woman forget her nursing child,
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.
Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
your walls are continually before me.

I was bemused by the "walls" reference, but according to my study Bible, it refers to the walls of Jerusalem that were demolished during the siege of the city by the Babylonians… and God's intention to restore them. To think that God not only hasn't forgotten about the rubble of my torn-down walls, but also remembers them constantly and still has plans to rebuild… well, that helps. It helps a lot.

His Eye Is On The Gato

At this time last week, I was waiting for the results of another test on my mysteriously sick cat. After months of digestive problems, Peach weighed six pounds. The vet had already ruled out the main cat diseases – diabetes, hyperthyroid, feline leukemia. This test was for pancreatitis. Aside from the fact that she couldn't keep food down, she was perplexingly healthy. With no diagnosis, she kept getting worse. It was my understanding that after this, there would be nothing else to do for her besides exploratory surgery. Cost aside, I didn't think she was strong enough to survive a surgery. She was clearly declining. I didn't feel optimistic about the test results, since none of the other tests had told me anything. So I started to accept that I was going to lose her, and probably soon. The only question was whether I would have to make the decision myself. I spent several nights last week crying next to her cat bed, praying for God to take her peacefully so she wouldn't have to be scared at the vet in her last moments.

I'd been praying for Peach every day for at least a year. I prayed and prayed and prayed for God to heal her or provide answers, but she kept getting sicker. Over time, it really started to mess with me spiritually. Sometimes I'd hear her getting sick in another room, and I'd think in despair, God, why won't you have mercy on one of your little creatures? Sometimes it devolved all the way to, Okay God, so it doesn't matter if I suffer, but how can you allow her suffering? Where's the purpose in that? I think this experience has given me a tiny window into how parents of severely ill children feel. It's awful to witness the distress of a creature who relies on you for care, and be unable to do anything else to help. I went through that for months and months. The only thing that comforted me last week was the certainty that one way or another, it was almost over. Either she'd get better, or she wouldn't make it. I didn't want to lose her, but I knew I was at a breaking point. I pretty much gave up and waited for bad news. God had said no, and I would just have to accept it and cope with it somehow.

 

Then, last Wednesday evening, the vet left me a voicemail. In the space of that voicemail, I did a total emotional 180 from grief to euphoria. The test results were in, and Peach didn't have pancreatitis. Not even close. BUT! He suspected she might have irritable bowel syndrome (IBS – just like humans get) and was willing to try treating her for that if I was okay with it. Immediately I was flooded with hope and relief. I didn't care that it wasn't a definitive diagnosis and the medicine might not even work. I was just thrilled that she had one more chance at life.

Sure enough, Peach has been on meds for almost a week now and hasn't gotten sick ONCE! She obviously feels better, is eating heartily, and has more energy. Feline IBS isn't curable, but it's manageable with prednisone. She's on a pretty high dose right now, but once things are under control, we'll scale back to the lowest dose that will keep her healthy. Added bonus: prednisone is cheap, I can even pick it up at a regular pharmacy, and she takes the pills happily in a pill pocket treat. I'm very hopeful that I'll get to see her healthy and plump again. :) Also, cats with IBS should be on a high-protein, low-grain diet. I switched both cats to grain-free food back in September in case Peach's problem was a food allergy. That switch might have saved her life.

Regardless of how things unfold from here, I have a renewed assurance of God's providence and care. I'm sure this whole story seems melodramatic and laughable to some because, you know, "it's just a cat." But 1) that cat is part of my family, and 2) this experience has been about much more than a pet. A lot of the emotional byproducts haven't been new to me. I already know what it's like to pray long-term for healing and restoration, to give it everything I have, only to watch what I love fall apart and die. It's been rough to go through that process again in any capacity. I'm also slowly losing hope that some of those losses will be redeemed. But God pulled off an eleventh-hour miracle with my cat when I seriously had no hope left. I had already given her up for dead, and He gave her back to me. He was there the whole time. He heard me. He had compassion on both of us. It's not a guarantee. But it's definitely something.

I Heart My Elantra

Several months ago, my dad told me that a co-worker of his was interested in buying my Lexus SUV. What made this weird was that it wasn't for sale. A while back I went through a phase of wanting a different car, then decided it was easier to stick with what I had. There was nothing wrong with my Lexus - it was purely a personal issue. My ex chose that car for me based on how easy it was to work on and whether it could carry a family of four on a trip. I liked it fine, but it wasn't really me, and obviously there was a lot of emotional baggage attached. I know a lot of single women choose to drive SUVs and beyond, but to me it felt like a mom vehicle, a constant reminder of what I'm not.

Having a potential buyer changed things. I started researching and took a few test drives. Just as I was getting really excited about the possibilities, the guy decided he didn't want my car after all. Womp womp. This situation repeated itself several times over the next few months. In the midst of the disappointments, I fell in love with the Hyundai Elantra. By then it was clear that no dealer would give me anything close to what my Lexus was worth, and I needed the full value to help me make a big down payment on a new car. So I stuck to my guns, listed and re-listed my car on Craigslist, and kept driving longingly past the Hyundai dealership.

A week ago today, I confessed to a friend over lunch that I felt discouraged and rejected on every front of my life. At the end of the list of things that aren't working out was, "I can't even sell my car." The very next morning, I got an e-mail from a potential buyer and I could tell she was serious. On Tuesday evening, my dad and I met with her and she said she'd take it! On Wednesday, after searching all the Hyundai dealerships within a three-hour radius, I found THE CAR at Downtown Hyundai in Nashville. It was a 2013, fully loaded, and the perfect shade of Tiger blue, a color I hadn't seen offered on the Elantra before. I negotiated a great price over e-mail, and she locked it in. On Friday, I sold the Lexus, and on Saturday morning, my parents drove me to Nashville to pick up the new car.

I am head over heels for this car. I'm pretty sure cartoon hearts were hovering around my head when they led me into the showroom. I never planned to have a brand new car, but as a single woman who's out and about a LOT, I really appreciate the safety, reliability and peace of mind that a new car brings. (Hyundais have a 100,000 mile warranty and five years of free roadside assistance.) I won't have to worry about anything blowing up on me for a long time. I don't have to wonder if the car is a lemon or what happened to it before I had it. I also sprang for all the bells and whistles because I expect to keep it for most, if not all, of its life. This purchase might look indulgent and irresponsible, but I can afford it, and I think it was the right thing to do for me right now.

Here's the car at home. Isn't it beautiful?? I'm still deciding what to call it. It makes sense to name it after a Tiger (I'm leaning toward D.J.), but I also found myself calling it Blue Ivy. (I do like Beyonce and Jay.)

I know it's very spoiled and First World of me, but I see this car as a generous gift from God. I feel newly reassured that He hears me and hasn't forgotten me. It's a reminder that he can and does bring something out of nothing. Maybe my life has stalled out, but He can pull out the jumper cables at any time.

Garden Update

So here's what my garden looked like when I planted it on April 1:

And here it is a mere five weeks later:

So take note: raised beds make ALL the difference! I wish I hadn't wasted so many years struggling with our heavy clay soil, when all I needed was a soaker hose, some old planks, and a few truckloads of Pro Mix.

Most of the tomato plants flowered weeks ago (Better Boy was the first), and tiny tomatoes are already growing! My pepper plants are also loaded with flowers. The squash and cucumbers haven't done much yet, but they're hot-weather plants anyway. (Not that it hasn't been hot - it was in the 90s on Sunday.) If this is any indication of the harvest to come, I need to learn how to can for real!

I also planted some Moon and Stars watermelon seeds last weekend. As you can see in the first photo, they've already sprouted and are almost ready to thin out! This is my first time growing watermelons, so I'm excited that they're doing so well.

I planted this gardenia bush two years ago, the same week my ex left me. Despite my best efforts (including digging it up and re-planting with better drainage), it's never blossomed. But a few days ago, I opened the blinds and saw two beautiful gardenias, with more emerging! I'm taking it as a good omen. When I mentioned this on my non-public blog, a friend said it reminded her of Valancy's rosebush in one of my all-time favorite books, The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery*. So now I feel even more hopeful about it. I'M READY TO BLOOM.


* = You can read it online for free here!

When You Think It's All Over

Confession: over the past couple of months, I've felt less and less optimistic about my future. In my post-divorce life, I've ardently believed that good things can happen – that God has big plans to redeem all that I've lost. In any case, I've held that it's healthier for my soul to hope and be disappointed than to expect the worst. But with little evidence of progress, I'm getting weary. That's very hard to admit when you've built a new identity on a strong sense of hope. Hello, I named my blog Don't Stop Believing, and I'm running on hope fumes.

I'm still waiting for some definitive sense of purpose to make my life mean something, to make my losses bearable. Something I can look at and say "I am alone for the purpose of doing this important, fulfilling work that God made me specifically to do." Seeing no grand objective to my suffering, or signs of a better future, does not get me excited about life. Instead it gets me reading Ecclesiastes very intently with highlighter in hand. (I'm so thankful that Ecclesiastes is in the Bible, to reassure us that even one of the wisest, most successful people who ever lived sometimes felt that life was pointless.)

But it wasn't anything spiritual that gave me a ray of hope this weekend. Nope. It was movies.

First You've Got Mail (one of my faves) was on TV. I've always related to Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan), but I was really struck this time by the scene where she locks up her beloved bookstore for the last time and walks heavy-hearted into the night, feeling "as if a part of me has died… and no one can ever make it right." But she has no idea of the new joy that's about to come into her life. In a matter of days, of course, because everything happens fast in a movie. But it was a little, silly reminder that good things can happen and new chapters can open at any time.

The second thing was even more ambiguous. A song in a commercial merely reminded me of the song in the climactic scene of another of my favorite movies, Fever Pitch (starring my #1 celebrity crush, Jimmy Fallon, and my favorite actress, Drew Barrymore). I'm about to slightly spoil it if you haven't seen it, but at the end of the movie, Jimmy decides to sell the Red Sox season tickets that have been in his family for generations. He and Drew broke up because of his obsession with the team, and now the things that were most important to him have lost their meaning. But just as he's about to sign the tickets over at the game, Drew (who's been trying unsuccessfully to get to him) drops down onto the baseball field and runs across it to stop him. As she runs, with security guards and baseball players in her wake, a chorus plays:

When you think it's all over, it's not over. It's not over.

With just a couple of chords, that whole scene flooded back to me, with that line in neon lights in my mind. I know how "That's deep, man" this all sounds, but immediately, I felt revived, and it's stuck. And I believe God can use anything to send a message. 

So… just for today, I'm going to believe again that there could still be great things on the horizon. Or if not, that it will somehow be okay anyway.

On Your Own Terms

My name change has finally gone through at work. I didn't want to announce anything until my e-mail and other accounts had been changed (a slow and painful process, thanks to outsourcing). Now I have a new name plate, a new badge, and new business cards on the way, and I feel like a new woman! My co-workers have added to the chorus of encouragement and support about the change. It's nice.

Last week, in response to my name update on Facebook, an old friend confided that her marriage is falling apart. She's going through much the same experience I did. My heart hurt for her, and I was overwhelmed with things I wanted to tell her. In all seriousness, I could fill a book with advice and hope for hurting, bewildered, abandoned women, and maybe someday I will. In the meantime, I may start blogging about it more regularly. I don't know the demographics of my readership, but even if these things don't apply to you, maybe you can use them to help or relate to someone else.

All that to say, my very positive name change has reinforced something I realized on day one: when you're going through a divorce, or any life-changing crisis that requires a lot of hard decisions, you have to do it on your own terms. This is so important. I'm not saying you should act carelessly or selfishly. I'm not advising against seeking wise counsel, or for doing it all on your own. I'm talking about the gray areas. The timing of things. The choices only you can make for yourself. With every step of my divorce, I waited, I talked to trusted friends, I prayed, I figured out what I could handle, and then I did what was right for me at that time. It wasn't always what others wanted me to do, when they wanted me to do it, but I have no regrets. It was a faith-enriching, confidence-building experience like no other. In keeping with that process, going back to my old name has been a happy and empowering occasion. People have congratulated me, and it's actually felt like the right response. It wouldn't have back then. Divorce, in itself, will never be something to celebrate, but a positive fresh start and reclaiming your identity is. In this case, I didn't have my name taken from me. I thought it all through and chose to give it back. That makes all the difference.

So many times over the last year and a half, I've thought I knew how people would respond to my situation. I've expected people to shun me, tsk-tsk me, assume that I casually tossed my marriage out like yesterday's garbage. With few exceptions, the exact opposite has happened. Even acquaintances and new friends have assumed all the correct things, have embraced and encouraged me. Every time it happens, my heart heals a little bit more. I still bear a lot of shame for being a divorced Christian woman, no matter how many Biblical grounds I had. But the shame is melting away, a little at a time.

I wrote this passage out for myself to claim it over my year. Over my life. I encourage you to claim it for yourself too.

Faith and Hope

My personal Bible time is really inconsistent these days. My ESV Study Bible is wonderful, but it can be overwhelming. (Should I read the text and then the footnotes? Go back and forth? Read the footnotes before the text? Overload!) I'm currently in Hebrews, one of my favorite books - at chapters 11 and 12, my longtime favorite chapters in that book. Last night, the very first piece of commentary I read blew me away. I thought, a la my friend Casey, "Let's close in prayer" (i.e., please disperse, nothing more to see here).

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. - Hebrews 11:1

By defining faith (Gk. pistis) as “assurance” and “conviction,” the author indicates that biblical faith is not a vague hope grounded in imaginary, wishful thinking. Instead, faith is a settled confidence that something in the future—something that is not yet seen but has been promised by God—will actually come to pass because God will bring it about. Thus biblical faith is not blind trust in the face of contrary evidence, not an unknowable “leap in the dark”; rather, biblical faith is a confident trust in the eternal God who is all-powerful, infinitely wise, eternally trustworthy—the God who has revealed himself in his word and in the person of Jesus Christ, whose promises have proven true from generation to generation, and who will “never leave nor forsake” his own (13:5). Such faith in the unseen realities of God is emphasized throughout ch. 11 (e.g., 11:7, 8; cf. v. 3) and has provided confidence and assurance to all who receive Christ as their Lord and Savior.

Faith and hope are hard for me to separate, which I guess is appropriate since Scripture often puts them together. I think the main difference is that faith is more about being - who God is, who we are as His children - and hope is more about doing - events that we wish for. Faith is the solid foundation of hope, the "substance" of hope. It's only through faith that we can hope appropriately. I hope for many important things, and I believe it's healthy to keep hoping for them even if they never happen. But if my hopes don't come to fruition, I will still have faith - "settled confidence" - in the goodness of God and the steadfastness of His love for me. He's promised never to abandon me, even when I feel abandoned. His character is true even if I can't see what He's doing and might never know the reasons why. Hope might let me down, but faith never will.


In the words of one of my favorite Paramore anthems, it's not faith if you use your eyes. :)


PS - This post was also partially inspired by a recent post from Dana at The Abundant Life, which gave me some much needed hope and encouragement. She's amazing!

The Allure of Hope

(California, March 2007)

Years ago, Laura recommended The Allure of Hope by Jan Meyers to me. I finally read it this month. The book is a summary of many things that have been percolating in me for a long time. I knew I was in for it on page 19, when, to my embarrassment, this passage made me start crying in the middle of a Schlotzsky's:

As I've spoken to countless women, I've been struck with the words they come up with when asked to think of hope: anticipation, renewal, expectation, motivation, trust, promise, excitement. Frankly, we are cowards. Are those descriptions of hope? Absolutely, those are threads within hope's fabric. But words like groaning, yearning, birth pain, anguish, doubt, and struggle don't immediately come to mind. Why?... These realities are intrinsic to the nature of hope and woven into the fabric of our souls as women. Hope cannot be separated from its gut realities. We think of hope as something "out there" that we either find or lose. The reality is, hope is something that rises up inside of us with a gentle strength that requires a response. We either respond to it with our hearts or we try to push it down. Responding to it brings a deepened sense of thirst, a deepened ache. Responding to it reminds us of what it truly means to be a woman. Trying to push it down is another story altogether. Notice I said "trying" to push it down. Hope is tenacious. Hope always finds us again.

We live in a world that equates "realism" with maturity. It's assumed that once we experience real trials and disappointments, we'll lower our expectations about life. This is true to a degree even among Christians. The revolutionary message of this book is that hope with our eyes open is the most affirming way to approach life. We are to hope knowing that we'll sometimes be disappointed, and may not ever have what we hope for.

Hoping God's way means neither ignoring our desires and trying to "be content" in our circumstances (as so many of us were taught), nor "clamoring" to fix things and make things happen on our own. It means acknowledging our hopes, and bringing them to God, over and over - and allowing Him to work in our hearts through our disappointment. It isn't an easy or happy process, and it's not supposed to be. But it makes us more beautiful and alive. It gives us compassion and vision. It brings us closer to God and to His work in and around us. Regardless of what comes of them, we don't need to smother our hopes. In fact, we need to hope bigger.

Like most people, I'm well acquainted with disappointment. I have important hopes that I'm aware may never be fulfilled. I constantly cycle through the three approaches that Meyers describes - "hovering," "clamoring," and real hope. When my hopes are dashed, it hurts, and I feel like I only have myself to blame for that pain. If I'd lowered my expectations and shut down my heart, I wouldn't have been disillusioned. But no matter how many times it happens, in big or small ways, I seem to keep hoping anyway. I've always been this way, and I've always felt foolish for it. But here's what Meyers says about that:

Hope begins when the memory of what was becomes a longing for what is to be restored. This is the place where contemplating a posture of openness and childlike dreaming seems utterly ridiculous. This is where the journey of the heart can easily be indicted as foolish. And indeed, it is foolish – a foolishness that leads to life. It is the kind of outlandish living that Paul spoke of when he said we are fools for Christ's sake.

Toward the end of the book, Meyers interviews a friend who's had some terrible experiences. What she said resonated so strongly with me:

As much as hope relieves the despair, it also really does make the heart sick – when I'm disappointed, when hope isn't realized in the timing I want. If I'm going to be alive and have hope, I'm going to have to grieve my losses and risk being hurt again and again. Because of the way God has a hold on me, I can't stop myself from putting my whole heart into life. A good part of the time this brings happiness, joy, and peace, but it also opens me up to deeper levels of despair… But what He's given me – His love – it makes me unable to resist giving these things away to other people.

Obviously, I recommend this book VERY highly. I'm actually restraining myself by not sharing ten more quotes. It might sound too touchy-feely to some, or not grounded enough in Scripture or something, but I believe it rings true.

Let that igloo cooler mark your piece of paradise.

We just hit the double digits of May, but I can already feel myself shifting into Summer Mode. Like one of my favorite authors, Sarah Dessen (who has a new book coming out today!), I'm a big fan of summer. It promises relaxation, fun, happiness, and possibility. Of course, to me, every change of season holds a sense of possibility, regardless of whether the past few have delivered. But humor me. :)

I'm dreaming big for Summer 2011. I have high hopes for pool days, lake days, margarita nights, picnics, concerts, Sonic runs, and cookouts with friends. I'm looking forward to reading stacks of fun books in my hammock, and walking or riding my bike at 9:00 at night because it's too hot to do it any earlier. I'm excited about cooking fresh summer recipes with my own produce. I'm already thinking about my annual Fourth of July party. I can't wait to see Deathly Hallows Part 2 and some of the other movies coming out. I MUST get to the beach at some point (the sooner the better, really). I'm even excited about painting my house, which I've talked about doing for about three years now - my dad and I might attempt it over Memorial Day weekend.

Basically, I'm ready to have a good time. With other people. (And I wouldn't complain if cute, interesting guys were involved. ;)) Last summer was restful and contemplative for me as I started putting my life back together. It was an almost sacred time and I'm glad I was able to have it. But this summer I'm in more of a party mood! :)

I've been listening to this song a lot in the car, and it always makes me happy. I don't care how inane the lyrics are. You know you love it too!!

No more despair.

The road to truly understanding grace can be a long one. I know I'm still on it. One thing that's become fresh to me over the past couple of years is God's Fatherly love toward His children. As a goal-oriented recovering people-pleaser, I tend to focus on my role as a servant of God. I imagine Him setting out tasks (of increasing difficulty) for me, and expecting results.

A while after my ex-husband left me, as I was getting up from the metaphorical ground, I started to assume that, now that I was a single person with no one to "serve," God would expect more from me than ever. I assumed I ought to be mentoring inner-city children and running soup kitchens (not that I particularly want to do those things). I felt guilty for so much freedom to do what I wanted, even for those days when I was only capable of going to work and then spending the evening in front of the TV. Sometimes it took effort just to take care of myself, but it didn't feel like "enough."

Around that time, my good friend Laura referred me to a scene in Return of the King* that helped her during a similar time in her life. I was reminded of it last weekend when the movie was on TV. In this short scene, Eowyn, the courageous noblewoman of Rohan, is experiencing a lot of grief and frustration - over the rejection by and loss of the man she loves, the inability to go into battle for her people, and the enormity of the darkness they're all facing. Everything seems lost, or nearly lost. But her father**, King Theoden, comes to her. Apparently I can't embed the video, but please watch it here.



Eowyn: What other duty would you have me do?

Theoden: Duty? No... I would have you smile again.
Not grieve for those whose time has come.
You shall live to see these days renewed. No more despair.
This exchange goes straight to my heart every time - it feels very personal. It reminds me that I am God's daughter, and He cares about both my grief and my happiness even more than my earthly father would. He counts my tears in His bottle (Psalms 56:8). I believe that sometimes God wants His children to raise their eyes beyond duty, to be still and allow Him to bring them hope, take away their despair, and cause them to smile again. He wants us to rest in Him for a while. I believe I'm in that kind of season now. I am smiling again, and it's because He's lavishing His love on me with His presence and so many unnecessary blessings. I have hope that I will see my days renewed - I'm seeing it already - and I believe that in the long run, I'll be able to serve Him better because of this time of rest and strengthening.


* = If you consider Lord of the Rings too nerdy, you might as well head for the virtual door now. :) Other than the Bible, it's the book that's had the biggest spiritual impact on me.

** = Technically he's her uncle, but he's raised her and served as her father figure. Just wanted to stave off any corrections by bigger LOTR nerds than I. :)

Hope that endures.

(taken that night)

Almost one year ago, I was in Savannah, Georgia. It was the night before my sister's wedding. After the rehearsal dinner, Debra, the bridesmaids, and I decided to go to the beach.

Two weeks before that night, my husband had told me out of the blue that he had had an affair. Four days before, he had left me and moved to his brother's house while I was at work. Two days before, he had called, apologizing and imploring me to let him come home. My dad had put him through the wringer. We all decided it was best to go to Savannah for the wedding without him, and sort everything out when I got back. I had reasonable hope for my marriage, but I also knew it could just as easily go the other way.

The night was cold, but the car was like a warm incubator, all of us piled in together, music and laughing. As we drove through the dark, I had no idea what was going to become of me. But as I looked out over the dark marsh, on the way to Tybee Island, I felt this wave of peace sweep over me. I knew deep down that no matter what was ahead of me, the God who created the marsh and the stars and the ocean and the universe was with me, and always would be. And no matter what, there would still be love and happiness in my life, and life would still be good. And in the year since then, I have been shown the truth of that moment over and over again. I believe in it with all my heart.

Quote of the Week

Biblical hope is substantial faith regarding the future. Hope looks at the shattered remains of the soul hit by the storm and envisions not merely rebuilding, but rebuilding a life that has even more purpose and meaning than existed before the loss. Hope is the dream of shalom, the anticipation of joy that courses through us and prompts us to rise and rebuild, to envision and risk for what is not yet. Hope takes the experience of loss and powerlessness and uses it as the raw material for writing a new and unexpected story.

- Dan Allender, The Healing Path