It's been nearly five months since my last post. And ironically, my last post was about hope. I had no idea that this would be tested (and still is) in such an extreme way just a month after I wrote it. I thought lower back pain was hard...and then my son's eczema flared like it has never flared before, and again I was faced with despair, discouragement, and anxiety. And this time I really plummeted into darkness. I have experienced dark seasons before, but I would say this past spring has been one of the "darkest nights of the soul" that I have lived through yet. And I say "lived through" but really I am still on the edge, perhaps emerging out of the darkness, but not yet in the light where all feels well. My hope has felt tested, rung out, dried in the sun. I have had many days and nights where I had to ask others to hope and believe for me. There have been days where I couldn't imagine how I would make it through the day. Anxiety is like that...it pushes your mind into a hamster wheel spin and your body goes into fight or flight mode. The future looks bleak, and so the present moment feels intolerable. And yet the only way out of this is to enter into this present moment as much as possible and begin to feel "safe" in it again. It's a LONG s l o w journey back to the present moment. In four months time I have filled my journal's pages with prayers, requests to be restored, and anything I could imagine that might help encourage me to take this breath...and the next breath. And hope has just been a small flicker, at times virtually nonexistent. At other times a moment would find me saying "I will get better" and I would be surprised by this "out of nowhere" hope. And so hope's seeds were in me, they just seemed covered over by all the despair and anxiety. And yet, they did not disappear altogether.
Perhaps hope is like that. It's not some big bright flower in full bloom that makes you feel all cheerful and happy, but rather a subtle new sprout poking through the winter's soil. It takes courage to hope, and it takes hope to have courage. It takes trust to hope, and it takes hope to trust. Really, I had little to do with the hope that would suddenly spring up in me. It was a miracle, really. And that is only the beginning of what I am learning in this season. How much my faith is about Him and not about what I can muster alone. How having enough faith doesn't mean it all turns out as we wanted it to. I am seeing how much more faith it takes to hold on to my beliefs when it's in the unseen, not the seen. When the storm waves are high and we cling to our faith, that is where courage and trust are truly tested. And that is when the hand of God, holding onto us, is all that we can hope for. I could not have made it through these last few months if God's hand was not mightier than my own. I have heard people say "hold onto God" but my grasp was not enough. And so I said "God, hold onto me." And that is what he did for Peter when he stepped onto the water, out of the comfort of his boat. When Peter's faith was not enough to hold him up on the water, Jesus reached his hand out. "Oh you of little faith." Those words can sound harsh and condemning and yet I am coming to see how full of compassion they are. Because, yes, I am of little faith. If we are honest with ourselves (and others) are we not all of little faith if life isn't going well? Faith seems strong and easy when our prayers are answered and all goes as "it should". But when our prayers go unanswered, or the answer isn't what we had wanted or imagined...where is faith? Yes--I am of little faith. And yet, Jesus reaches his hand out to me and saves me from falling. He loves me that much! He has faith in me! And that is what enables me to hope again, and what enables me to have faith the size of a mustard seed (that's tiny). Because it's not about what I bring to the table that will get me out of this place of darkness. It's what God brings to us. It's about Him. And that is enough.
