About Hope

I’ve found a thing that is most stubborn and unruly. It is irrational, yet the most logical force there’s ever been. It’s true. It squeezes in through the cracks, it passes through. It reaches the marrow of your bones and settles in, and makes its home. It flows through your veins. It’s the breath that catches when you behold beauty. It’s the word written on the door. It’s the reasoning where fear grabs on, because really, fear can only show up if there’s hope. But hope outruns it. Hope is slick, and deep, and relentless. And this is why fear is so starved, desperate, and dependent. Fear is limited.

I’ve felt the depths of grief and the pangs of anxiety. I’ve seen the darkness of depression, and endured the shame of reckless choices. Life has seldom withheld its blunt, sharp force toward me. Trauma: check. Failure: check. Abandonment: check. And yet the spirit of rejection doesn’t get to have a loud voice, because this shrill, shrill obnoxious singing is loud inside my head. Loud, like a song I can’t tune out, repetitive, catchy. Think Uptown Funk.

We are wired to hope. Even in the tempest, there’s a longing cry. My disappointments are all from a hope deferred, and every time my heart was broken, the pain was from my hope being so far up, invested and then returned to me. I could drive it in the ground, but it would rise. They say it floats. I say it sinks into the heart, tattooed, ink and blood and tears, it dares to hope within me, this hope.


It whispers in the cold “I wish it were warm” and arrives at the thought of “it will get warm” and reasons “when will it be warm?” and it grunts and waits. It waits for warmth. Hope teaches us to wait, to wade through our circumstances unto what is yet to come.

It’s the maybe in the dark. It pauses to remind you that it may be, that it could be. The dream you have, the love you want, the answer could just be… yes. Hope is ridiculous, but it’s right. You just don’t know. How could you know what is yet to be? Nobody knows but Truth. It makes great sense, this hope.

There is not a thing more dangerous than a hopeful one. Not the dark of night, or the schemes of the enemy. Not the accuser’s voice, or the pain of heartache, much less a heavy past. It’s the thing that can’t be killed, it can’t be silenced. Fear is predictable, but hope? Ha! Hope can’t be drowned, shot, or numbed. It can’t be terrorized, much less held captive. This sweet force has found its way to you.

Can you feel it?

One thought on “About Hope

  1. Pingback: Hope | Beth Barron

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