Hope is yours.
She said “I love you, Jords. Hope is yours.”
I haven’t written much lately. The pull is there, words tugging at my heart. But it’s been a tough season and sometimes I don’t want to stand on the pedestal of suffering and talk about things the pain is teaching me. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like there could ever possibly be a point to it all.
I don’t like where I’m at right now, this place of unrest. Where every joy seems to be masked with a melancholy aroma. Unlike a tough week, this heaviness has been lingering for some time. It’s strong and crippling and then it fades, only to return again. I don’t really know what to do with it or how to be okay inside of it.
There are moments when it feels impossible to see beyond the rim of this dark hole. Every so often, when all I can see are my hands pressed up against my face, I call out. Whether it’s desperation or a shot of true bravery, I call out for help because I know I can’t do this on my own and I don’t think I’m supposed to.
I reach, hoping for a glimpse beyond right now, and then I see a light – a small, but bright light, shining down on me from above. I hear a voice that says, “I love you Jords. Hope is yours.” Another voice calls out and, suddenly, there are two small lights shining down. The darkness is getting brighter. My eyes are beginning to see around me – beyond my hands, beyond right now.
Hope feels a little bit closer, like I could really hold onto it, as long as that brightness keeps on illuminating the dark places.
Life has been really hard lately and I’ve felt things that I haven’t felt in a long time. But in the midst of it, I really am learning. I’m experiencing the beauty of community and love. I hate the pain and the sadness but I’m thankful for the way God is redeeming those things even when I can’t understand it.
If you’re struggling, know that you’re not alone. You are certainly not.
Weakness fosters authenticity.
Authenticity reveals the King.
(2 Cor 12:9-10)