Letting hope slow you down

My kids are hoping that it is going to snow; the type of Southern snow that shuts down the whole city — especially the schools. I am half listening to their predictions as I race around the house hoping I didn’t really leave my phone on the counter at the bank. There’s math homework on the kitchen table and a kid hoping the Elf on the Shelf might do it for him. And frozen meat in the sink I’m hoping the microwave can thaw in time for dinner. The whole house seems to be anchored in place by the weight of all this hope.

It’s when I’m following the Find my iPhone buzz around the garage that I realize I am doing it. Holding my breath. All this hoping seems to have sucked the air right out of my lungs. Once again my hope is found in my ability to do it all and make it look easy. This time of year? Well, I put a lot of hope in … ME. And I bet if you are being honest, you put a lot of hope in YOU too.

You hope the kids will listen. You hope the day will hold less chaos. You hope the conflict will resolve itself. You hope the broken toilet can be fixed. You hope you remembered to turn off the oven and lock the front door. You hope yourself right into a breath holding, heart racing panic. And you wonder why there is no peace to be found.

For me, hope can be like a giant octopus I must wrestle each day. He has many arms and if I can put them all in the right place then we can just keep swimming. But. If I am not able to hope enough to make it all work; if I let go or breathe too much, he might pull me under and I’ll never get free.
Strange analogy, I know. I have a bit of an overactive imagination.

So, we are walking through the first full week of Advent having lit the Candle of Hope on Sunday. And on Monday, a lady at the park tells me she’s hoping to be able to walk the whole track by Christmas. She’s almost there, she says with a smile.Her legs are weak and she leans heavily on a cane. The cold wind rushes between us threatening to knock her down. But, she braces against it and her eyes meet mine. “I might have miles to go, ” she says without a hint of overwhelm, “but that’s ok. I know I don’t walk alone.” I start to speak, but she silences me with those eyes of hers, “And neither do you, young lady.” She pats my shoulder and continues her slow persistent walk around the park track. She’s my new best friend, though, because she called me young lady.

But standing there next to her, it is nearly tangible. Her hope. It is written all over her face. “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure” (Hebrews 6:19). Yeah. I think she knows how to hold onto that anchor.

I don’t think her hope has octopus arms that threaten to strangle her. I think it has gentle hands that help her keep walking.

Hope. I want it to be about how I make it all go well; about me. But into that wanting Jesus whispers, I want you to see that it’s all about me. I AM the hope. Hope that walks with you when you’re not sure you can make it. Hope that speaks into a dark world and tells the  light to shine. Hope that comes as a baby in a manger, sends a carpenter from Bethlehem up a dusty road to a cross and walks right out of death’s tomb … all for the sake of your heart. I AM the only hope you need.

I spend the rest of the day wondering how to be more like that lady at the park and less like the frantic mom who loses her phone and runs around the house holding her breath.

D.L. Moody wrote this about faith. “Faith is the gift of God. So is the air, but you have to breathe it. So is the bread but you have to eat it; so is the water but you have to drink it.”  And I think the same might be true of hope. Hope is the gift of God. But we have to take it.

The hope that Jesus gives has little to do with how good we are at making life happen. It’s not our job to create hope. I repeat those words to myself.

We can slow down. Breathe. Eat. Drink. We can quit wrestling with the octopus of all the expectations and just let the Author of Hope walk with us. He always knows exactly how far we have to go.“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not be faint” (Isaiah 40:31).

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