Monday, August 4, 2014

against all hope, I hope.

today my bible reading landed me in Romans 3 & 4.

"against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became
the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him...
without weakening in his faith, he faced the facts 
that his body was as good as dead-since he was about 100 years old - 
and that Sarah's womb was also dead. 
Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God
but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, 
being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promise.

I read these words several times, 
over and over. 
then I copied them in my journal, 
wanting to press them deeply into the pages of my heart.
asking God to give me faith like Abraham. 

that I would hope against all hope. 

friends, I started my day rooted in this truth, 
with a hopeful spirit.
and tonight I sit here feeling weary and deflated (not defeated. oh no, not defeated. just deflated.)

that's real talk. 

now hear this: I AM hopeful.
even in this moment I have hope. 
but I don't FEEL hopeful. 

tonight when I sat down with my journal, 
the words that poured forth were different than those of this morning,
but none less sincere, honest, or true. 
tonight I pressed words to page in hopes that the writing
would be like a sweet aloe to my sunburned soul. 
and as I was writing to Jesus
I realized that others, too, may be struggling to hope against all hope. 

so I returned back to this space,
this sacred and scary space,
of vulnerability and courage, 
of connection and encouragement. 

tonight, honestly,  I feel sad. 
I find myself asking, "Lord, when will I get to be a mom? Is it coming? Will it ever come?"
Some days the aching is more intense, 
the longing more acute. 
today happens to be one of those days. 

I am hopeful because I believe in God's promises- to me and to you. 
I believe that he has called us to adopt and he has created us to parent, 
so I choose HOPE in these moment,
holding fasts to words that He has spoken over me during this journey.

I wonder if Abraham ever had nights like mine tonight, 
nights when hope didn't come as easily,
when he had to choose to recite the promises over and over again in his head. 

I wonder if his heart ever felt heavy with longing
instead of light with hope. 

I wonder if there were days when Abraham questioned whether he had heard God correctly, 
or if his memory was failing in his old age. 

I find comfort in imagining these human moments of Abraham's,
because it is in those moments that my story intersects his. 

When we honestly ask ourselves which persons in our lives mean the most to us, 
we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures,
have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. 
-Henri Nouwen

when I read about the faith and hope of Abraham I am encouraged, 
both by what is recorded in the actual words about him,
and by what I read in those spaces between. 

as I place myself in the story of Abraham and Sarah,
I feel a warm, tender hand,
and HOPE returns. 

against all hope, I continue to hope. 
unwavering through faith. 
believing in His promises. 

*posted without editing so I won't change it all. but forgive any type-o's!