Accompanying Hope
Last week on one of the not so perfect days in our house, I texted my sister and asked her this semi-rhetorical question:
Is it blind faith or unsubstantiated optimism that always tells me tomorrow will be a better day?
Then this week happened--with sleepless nights of coughing and steam showers and elbows in my belly as I discovered a couple extra boys trying to climb in bed with me. Let me just say, I am not a natural co-sleeper to begin with. Add twinancy to the mix and there better not be anything or anyone else in bed with me other than four extra pillows and possibly the cat, but only if he curls up very, very small and doesn't make a single peep.
Anyway, this week happened, in all its glory, and I told the Man yesterday that I wanted to quit. I wanted to quit parenting. I wanted to quit pregnancy. I wanted to quit this deployment. Yes, I realize none of those are possibilities, but sometimes just saying it out loud (or typing it in an email?) makes reality more bearable.
But you see, that's the thing about being an adult: you have to take care of yourself. And the thing about being an adult with kids of your own: you have to take care of them too. And the thing about being an adult with sick kids: no one else is going to make the decision about whether or not to take them to see the doctor. The buck stops here.
No one is coming to take care of you (unless you ask--and thank God for that wonderful friend who made a Walgreens run to pick up infant tylenol when Tiny couldn't stop shaking and wouldn't get out of my lap and the two bottles of pain meds we did have decided to mysteriously run out at exactly the same time). And no one is coming to save you.
Except for Christ.
And that's when I think I may have been wrong. That's it's not blind faith or unsubstantiated optimism. It's hope. And "hope does not put us to shame". Why not? "Because God's love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." (Romans 5:5)
If I trust that Christ has come to rescue me, to be my knight in shining armour (if you will), to be my Saviour, in all senses of that word... if I trust that the sovereign God is pouring out his love for me (yes, even in ways I don't understand, perhaps in the form of croupy sons and diarrhea laundry and twin B shoved up underneath my rib cage)... if I trust that the Spirit of my Saviour and of this Sovereign God resides in me, walks with me, and does not leave me alone (not ever)... then how can I keep from hoping?
Even if sometimes it feels like hope is nothing more than grasping at Truth and making a breakfast donut run to appease the restless natives.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Is it blind faith or unsubstantiated optimism that always tells me tomorrow will be a better day?
Then this week happened--with sleepless nights of coughing and steam showers and elbows in my belly as I discovered a couple extra boys trying to climb in bed with me. Let me just say, I am not a natural co-sleeper to begin with. Add twinancy to the mix and there better not be anything or anyone else in bed with me other than four extra pillows and possibly the cat, but only if he curls up very, very small and doesn't make a single peep.
Anyway, this week happened, in all its glory, and I told the Man yesterday that I wanted to quit. I wanted to quit parenting. I wanted to quit pregnancy. I wanted to quit this deployment. Yes, I realize none of those are possibilities, but sometimes just saying it out loud (or typing it in an email?) makes reality more bearable.
But you see, that's the thing about being an adult: you have to take care of yourself. And the thing about being an adult with kids of your own: you have to take care of them too. And the thing about being an adult with sick kids: no one else is going to make the decision about whether or not to take them to see the doctor. The buck stops here.
No one is coming to take care of you (unless you ask--and thank God for that wonderful friend who made a Walgreens run to pick up infant tylenol when Tiny couldn't stop shaking and wouldn't get out of my lap and the two bottles of pain meds we did have decided to mysteriously run out at exactly the same time). And no one is coming to save you.
Except for Christ.
And that's when I think I may have been wrong. That's it's not blind faith or unsubstantiated optimism. It's hope. And "hope does not put us to shame". Why not? "Because God's love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." (Romans 5:5)
If I trust that Christ has come to rescue me, to be my knight in shining armour (if you will), to be my Saviour, in all senses of that word... if I trust that the sovereign God is pouring out his love for me (yes, even in ways I don't understand, perhaps in the form of croupy sons and diarrhea laundry and twin B shoved up underneath my rib cage)... if I trust that the Spirit of my Saviour and of this Sovereign God resides in me, walks with me, and does not leave me alone (not ever)... then how can I keep from hoping?
Even if sometimes it feels like hope is nothing more than grasping at Truth and making a breakfast donut run to appease the restless natives.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Romans 15:13
