Have you ever felt inconclusive? Unable to synthesize, or tie-up a thought? Here I stand. And mind you, I was never one of these people. Especially in writing, I’ve always been able to begin, body and conclude a work quite easily. Not anymore—in writing, or otherwise. The Lord has brought me to new frontiers, where bearings and clarity are yet to be told. So take the following two entries for what they’re worth—unfinished and undone in many ways, but believing, by faith, that Sight is coming.

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Behind the Sunglasses and Script

Hope. A word overused, yet underrated. Four letters capable of taking a life, or letting one live.

I’ve never allowed myself to attach to hopes as I have this semester. In the same breath, however, I must say I’ve never gotten comfortable with the blind risk of such doing.

I’ve intentionally hoped in a lot of things lately. And doing so has forced me out-of-control, a haven I’ve rested in for far too long. But what do you do when your hope doesn’t respond? When your heart’s longing doesn’t pan out? I liked a boy. I hoped it would work out. It didn’t. I hoped my drug addict friend would find shelter, security and a Savior. To my knowledge, she hasn’t. I’ve hoped in various decisions, grades, mirrors and what felt like monologues with God lately, to no avail. I’m still waiting. Still “hoping” in the dark. Believing in a seen hopelessness. There may not be a more crazy phenomenon.

Hope never fails and yet hope never promises. It never ceases to exist, and yet never shoves its existence. It’s a choice. A surrender of sorts. To what though? To a desire …to an end…to God? Where is hope leading and where does it come from? And how much deference can a hoping heart take?

I’m writing this in a posh coffee shop in Beverly Hills (Peets, if you’re ever hoping for the best latte known to man). I don’t get to this part of town too often, but I always seem to learn a lot when I do. In a matter of minutes, I’ve been confounded again by the hurry, the hiddeness and the hurt exposed by this population. They’re no different than the rest of us, really, but seem that way due to exaggerated investments in sunglasses and sullen faces sealed with masks and masking agendas. Their hope in the next deal, or the next distraction, diet, or dream is just as deep as ours—just more glamorously displayed.

Everyone wants to look like they’re going somewhere. Like they have a purpose in walking through the door. Everyone hopes they’ll look the part—they’ll hide the fact that in actuality they’re a big act. They’re not the real deal. Everyone hopes they can keep the lie covered—the lie that they’re not the person people think—they’re not the put-together persona that people assume.

But what if people found that out?

What if people realized we weren’t what they thought? We weren’t what they hoped for? Could we stand it? Could they stand us?

To hope that no one ever sees ‘the real us’ is to hide from life. And to hide from life is to die.

Leaning into hopes and hoping into what feels like pure desire—and then seeing hopes and desires fade, or take-on rejection, hurts. And hurting feels bad. It needs help. It’s tired. It cannot do life alone. But as we mentioned above, no one wants to take-on such an existence, so we hide behind sunglasses and scripts. But what I’m starting to see is that hurting holds just as much Life as healing. Pain carries just the same weight as pleasure. Neither can ultimately exist without the other.

The death and resurrection of Jesus was one movement. They go hand-in-hand—one doesn’t work without the other. To die in Christ is to be born again. And to live in Christ is to continue dying. To continue hoping. Hope can wait, but it never fails. Hope can hurt, but it never dies.

Lord, help us keep hoping—help us keep believing Your end as the primary mover of every hoped for beginning.