Hidden Hope

Spring time in Western North Carolina is always full of surprises, often going from winter to summer, then back to winter in the course of a few hours.  But my absolute favorite thing about spring is the sun.  I always know it’s there in those winter months, but I don’t always feel it, or I am too cold to soak it up outdoors.  I just don’t always experience it.  But sitting out on my back deck with a ray of sunshine pouring onto my face at the end of April is like the touch of velvet or the smell of coffee, awakening my senses to warmth, light, and promise.  Basically, it feels like hope.

You know, when you’ve been in a dismal season of darkness, and for the first time in the longest time that you can remember, you feel it:  that very slight, yet quite tangible ray of hope.  It wraps you up like a long lost friend and lingers there for a moment, reminding you that God never ceased being sovereign, and he never ceased being good. But I often cease remembering that the very author and epitome of goodness is the same, all-knowing Father who chooses to allow some things to come to fruition in my life, while also choosing to allow the death of others.  

I’ve just begun to experience the emergence from a dark season filled with cries of despair, tears  of heartache, and a few pity parties concerning God’s timeline as it clashes with mine.  A time of learning first hand that the God who works all things together for good remains the High King of Goodness, even when I hurt. And that EVERY SINGLE THING that comes into my life is a canvas on which he paints the glory of his goodness. Too many times during that dark season, my belief in the pain was stronger than my belief in his character, and when that pain did not subside, I made it an idol.  

How often I worshipped at the altar of my suffering, pridefully assuming my wounds were too deep to be good, and therefore I was entitled to a first-class seat headed far away from the trial.  I falsely believed my bottle of tears (collected by God, himself) had reached an effectual limit, and one more would deny his good character.  That I was deserving of a respite from my suffering – that I was due a “blessing”.  I have since learned two things that were extremely wrong with this theology:  1) The very HOPE I possess through Christ is more than I will ever deserve and enough to  see me through a lifetime of crosses to bear;  2) The suffering IS the blessing. 

Yes, the very suffering he allows in my life is clearly part of his plan for making me more like him.  If 2 Peter 1:3 is true, then he has given me everything I need for a life of godliness. I must have needed this (it figures – I am pretty stubborn).  This means there was no better way to refine my heart or bring him glory than for me to suffer in this way!   Getting through and out of that season permeated my every thought, action, and goal.   I never lost my faith, but I wasn’t experiencing hope, and I certainly wasn’t basking in the goodness of God.  There is a time for mourning and a time for dancing. Hallelujah, our God is sovereign during BOTH.  During the dancing, I will soak in all the hope I can like sunshine after a storm.  During the mourning, I will cling to the UNSEEN hope I have in Christ, which far outweighs the temporary things I CAN see.  Seasons of darkness are inevitable in this broken world.  Dreams die.  Spouses leave.  Children wander from faith.  Cancer kills.  People fail.  Yet my hope remains secure in the one who holds eternity.  So I raise my head to the one who chose suffering to make me his.  My sunlight.  My eternal hope.