hope holds
by Kristen
Hope is a hazy word. I see it, and then I don’t.
I reach for it, and the vapor trails away.
For years, the more I tried to get a grip on it, the more it seemed like the tail of a balloon dipping and weaving ahead of me. Even if I could catch it, at best it could pull me a few inches—maybe a few feet—off the ground. It could give me a hint of perspective. It could give my legs a few seconds of reprieve.
But hope was never enough to carry me. It couldn’t sustain my weight. The string slipped out of my hand, I thudded back to reality, and the balloon bobbed ahead of me again. I had to hustle to keep it in sight, let alone get a hand on it.
Hope always seemed to be “out there” or “up there,” but what if hope is “down there”?
What if hope is the anchor or—even better—the solid seabed into which the anchor sinks?
Maybe hope is less about getting above despair and more about being rooted in the Immovable as life’s storms rage.
Perhaps hope is less escape and more endurance.
When the anchor is sure, though the waves crash and threaten to swamp me, I am not lost. The squalls leave me battered and bruised, wet and chilled, weak in the knee and sick to my stomach; yet, I am secure.
The clouds clear, and I have not drifted. Hope remains. I remain.
Hope isn’t what I hold onto but what—or Who—holds onto me.
…and He is holding us securely in His arms of love.
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Lovely… we have the :Blessed Hope’ that is well beyond what we deserve.
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Kristen – God is surely using you to speak truth into my heart! Each time you post recently, I hear God speaking directly to me. Thank you!
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Beautiful. Thank you for sharing friend. I will hold onto that last image of the clouds clearing and I remain because of my anchor.
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When I read your words I find that I pause . . . and breathe deeply . . . and lean into Jesus. Thank you for that gift.
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