When hope hurts.

I’ve been silent this last year. My heart was lost; overwhelmed by many unhealed wounds; wounds in which were no longer covered, no longer masked. A recurring theme for me is one of hiding. I come out with grandeur statements and thoughts, hoping something sticks. Like throwing a ball of slime to a ceiling, hoping each time I do it stays forever, only for the ball to drop time and time again.

But hope. I used to boast myself in it. I convinced myself and all of you it was my life’s mission statement. To hope beyond all circumstance…

Oh, but that ball dropped and soon, hope made me angry. My heart had become bitter and closed off, hurt by the losses I’ve faced. Angry at what felt like was stolen from me. Stolen from my family. Dreams shattered by circumstance after circumstance. And me, getting in the way.

This last year did not go as I had planned. I don’t even really know what it was I planned, but it didn’t happen. I started out strong and hopeful. Bit by bit I began to fall into a deep depression - again - unlike one I have ever experienced. Life felt truly meaningless and hopeless. It felt cruel and insulting. And with the pandemic and politics raging, I was just angry. How could this be life? How could this come close to anything I was expecting from it?

I was drowning. I needed help, in a way unlike before. I knew I wanted to live, but I didn’t know what for, regardless of good things that were happening. That, that is where that depression came and suffocated me. Squeezing the literal life out of me. It was terrifying. People were worried, and so was I.

But meds and proper nutrition and lots of therapy. The fog began to lift. And it was strange. Each time I emerge from a deep depression everything feels strange. Colours almost seem brighter. Happiness is unfamiliar and I still find myself questioning it. But more so, I came to the surface only to find a lost faith.

I know what to say if you were to put me on the spot. I have years of training under my belt. Put me on a stage tomorrow and I could probably preach up a storm. But there has been a disconnect. It’s as if my soul was unplugged from my heart. Or rather, mind and heart became strangers. And I can admit that I put a wall up between me and Jesus. We became strangers. It’s on me. I know He’s been here this whole time. But me - and anger, lots and lots of anger.

Bit by bit my walls have been coming down. And I’m coming to realize, I could very well lose more. In fact, it’s almost guaranteed. My heart could very well be shattered again - it’s the price of life. Of loving and then losing. We open our hearts to something, hoping for a miracle, and disappointment comes crashing. It colours our world with new shades of blue; of sadness and of pain.

But hope.

Hoping hurts. Just like loving someone can hurt. It’s risky; faith is risky.

I don’t know exactly what it was that’s caused said walls to start to fall, but I know after living my entire life a certain faith based way, when you change that, or rather ignore that part of yourself, it comes knocking. I’ve missed that part of my life. And this isn’t a one and done situation. It’s messy as all heck, and a straight up roller coaster. And not a floaty kind meant for small children - a roller coaster that rips up and down, left to right - leaves you breathless and straight up dizzy.

I’ve given up on New Years resolutions, I think years ago, after what happened. They seem stupid. So this, this is not that. But, I’ve decided my word for this year is hope. I think it was my word a few years ago, but it’s taken on a new meaning.

Hope in the face of extreme loss is different.

Hope isn’t to be taken lightly. I was listening to something earlier and they said that hope shouldn’t be a burden, because at the end of the day hope is a gift. For me, something clicked when I heard that. Hope as a gift… It’s there to receive, not to be strived for. And so maybe at first I will literally need to receive hope every morning as if it were the first time. Because my heart is still very much on a healing journey; also known as life.

I was ready at some points to give up on hope all together. It was too painful, and in some ways it still is. It came knocking on my door a bit ago. It feels different, this time around. Maybe it’s because I know my life depends on it. Or that I’ve discovered a tender hope, one that is gentle and aware of my aching heart.

And so from my heart to yours, here’s to hoping even when it hurts. Even when it feels like at any moment, our hearts could be crushed at the weight of it.

Here’s to rediscovering things of old, while also discovering new things.

Here’s to hope as a person: the person is Jesus. And as much as I want to convince myself He can’t be trusted, at the end of the day I know He can be. He’s the gentle whisper of hope I’ve started to hear. He’s the sun on the horizon: the promise of a new day.

Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Romans 15:13 (NKJV)