a letter: hope.



A letter to my self a year and a half ago.

I know. Right now, you are drawing lines in the sand. You’ve reached the end of how far you’ll go. You’ve surrendered as much as you’re willing. In a stand-off with God, you’re declaring you won’t go any further until He changes something, anything. Everywhere you look, you see a no from Him. The maybe nevers weigh so heavy on you. What you want is a good thing and your heart is pinky tender from the sandpaper of hurt feelings.

A year and a half later, you still won’t have what you want. That longing will go unmet.

But. You will have more, and you’ll see it on a spring-laden weekend in March. In the over and over again of asking God, you will begin to see with different eyes. The no and the fear of maybe never will still be there, stinging from time. But yeses will be louder. You will learn to hope in God and not what He can do for you, what you think He should do for you.

You’ll read this:


His beauty will call up your hope as He casts the sun high in the sky and makes it’s warm rays stronger than the last grip of winter. You’ll be boueyed high on a quince bush laden with buds and the snow-petaled ground under a blush-blooming camellia.

His generosity will call up your hope as you jump to the rap on your door on a Saturday afternoon. You’ll watch little legs toddle around your yard, and that will give way to your other kind of neighbors–long on life and big on spirit. You’ll tromp through their backyard and feel a little pink-cheeked as you walk under their laundry strung overhead. You’ll feel His love course strong as you stand by the street and watch knowing hands guide your girl’s as she plants her tiny cabbage plant.

His loyalty will run strong on a Sunday when you open the curtains wide and let the light cast shadows across your bed. You’ll feel just a touch of that always and forever as you lay beside your girl and read. You’ll never want to forget they way she lays belly down and legs bent upwards, ankles crossed. How she holds her chin in her hand will call up a strong and end-of-the-world-fierce love in you for her. He is loyal to you, to you becoming whole in Him, however it might smart. And you will know that as you feel how hard you will fight for your girl course through you.

Right now? You are looking in the wrong place for hope. You are looking in the wrong place, but you will learn heart-deep¬†that hope is the thing that lives inside you especially when there is still sandpaper in your life. You will learn that hope isn’t much about a when or why or how. Hope is about a Who. And He will be faithful to teach you that over the next 18 months.

2 thoughts on “a letter: hope.

  1. I love this post, and I love when I start to realize how much God is changing my heart and creating beauty out of my brokeness, even through the “no’s”

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