Hope

So, Friday I had one of those days that I dread having.  Where I'm utterly unproductive, where I'm snuggled into a fetal position in a fluffy pink robe, my eyes swollen from tears of frustration and I can't motivate myself to eat anything other than a couple of packages of brownie bites.  I couldn't even wait to get home from the library to get started.  On the bus, even (which somehow makes things seem even more sad to me . . . what is it about bus rides that paints everything with a melancholy tone?), tears still managed to spill their way out.  I can never hide it because even if tears don't fall, my nose and eyes immediately redden up.  It wasn't until a gentlemanly young man sitting a seat away from me asked, "Excuse me, are you okay?" that I realized I was as noticeable as I'd feared being.

I do allow myself the pathetic luxury of wallowing in self-pity from time to time, but I'm getting better at not giving myself over to it completely and at least trying to snap myself out of it.  I called and talked to a few people to give me an encouraging word.  One of the questions I kept asking myself is, "Should I give up hope?  Is it fruitful to still hope for something when the limitations and barriers have been clearly and repeatedly spelled out for me?"  I mean, not give up hope in God, but give up hope in this particular situation.  To me, to give up hope = to stop setting myself up for disappointment unnecessarily.

One person said, "you should never give up hope," and then quoted Romans 5:5.  Hope maketh not ashamed. I started looking up all the scriptures having to do with hope.  I guess I still wasn't convinced.  What I mean is, I wasn't convinced that the best thing for me to do wasn't just to allow my hope to die.  To lay down my expectation that some magical day, things are going to change.

Today was my day to teach the little ones.  Love those guys.  Today we learned about loving your neighbor.  (To the tune of "Are You Sleeping?"): Love your neighbor, love your neighbor, Jesus said, Jesus said, I can love my neighbor, I can love my neighbor, you can too, you can too.  I wasn't in the sanctuary for the message.  This morning before even heading to church, there was a part of me that told myself, If he preaches on something about hope today, then I'll know.  But how would I know if I wasn't even going to be in there during service?

Near the end of service, of course, parents come by to pick up their kids.  Usually, by the time all the kids are gone and I finish making sure toys are put away and wiping down tables with Clorox wipes, service is completely over and I just pop my head back into the sanctuary to chat for a minute before heading home.  But today, after all the kids were picked up and all put back in place, when I walked into the sanctuary, altar service was still going on.  And the title of the message just preached was flashed up on the screen:  "When All Seems Hopeless."  I gasped.

There's a doggedly stubborn, skeptical part of me afraid to believe it more than coincidence.  But there's another part of me who teared up (surprise, surprise) at the knowledge that God really does know where I am.  Maybe He's trying to tell me that moving on and thinking about the situation a different way doesn't have to mean giving up hope.