hope

i've taken to reading quite a few blogs lately, and what i've found to be most frustrating is how many of the people i most want to hear from don't update frequently. so though i don't i have much to say, and i'm not sure how many of you read this, i figure that to avoid what i find disappointing, i myself should avoid. therefore, i'll be (at least for now) making as much of an effort as i can to post regularly, even if i don't have much to say.

there are a couple of other books that i read this summer that i really feel are worth posting on, but i'd have to take the time to glance through them again before writing about them. and it's late, and i'm tired, so i'm not going to do that tonight.

so i'm not sure what to write about in this space tonight (of course, if you do read my blog, and have any ideas of things i should write about for other posts, please let me know).

what follows may simply be some stream-of-consciousness writing. this will be somewhat experimental for me, as i believe the only other time i've written this way was for an exercise in middle or high school or something.

the ceiling glitters with twinkling lights, much like a strange white night sky. the sparks of light seem much like hope in my life, something i have only recently learned to see and therefore sparse and distant from one another. but no less real than the light that is causing the reflections in the ceiling; no less real than the light of the sun; no less real than the God who is light.

it seems impossible to imagine that anyone could live a life - or even a single day - without hope. i think i believe that hope is as essential as air and water, as nourishing as food. yet i can honestly say that i'd never even begun to understand anything about hope until fairly recently. i find that i now desire to feast on it to break free from the years of starvation, and i carefully, warily tread near it, examining it, as if fearful that it's not true.

i could never say that i've never had moments of hope in the past. but the clearest moment and glimpse of hope i'd ever had was snatched away from me so quickly and violently, that a deep fear was planted within me to avoid any semblance of hope again. the theft of my hope that day led to the darkest night i have experienced, the darkest moment i think a person can experience (though maybe that's simply my overall inexperience speaking).

it took me a decade to seek hope again after that robbery and darkness. it took me a third of my life so far to be willing to risk wondering about hope.

now that i've tasted hope, i can't even begin to imagine the forced starvation i put myself through for all those years. i wonder if i could have had it any other way. i wonder if i'm still such a person that i could allow someone to steal my hope, or if i've gained the strength to avoid allowing another to crush me.

so as i look at these glints of light in the ceiling, i smile and my eyes close in delight and utter gratefulness to the God who has given me life, who gives me - and calls me to - hope, and who's grace and mercy are well beyond anything i could ever begin to understand.