Hope is Darkness

There were two high schools, and then there was one, and rivals had to learn to become friends and play on the same team. That's life in a small town. We call ourselves a city, but we are small enough that when one person from the high school is killed by his own hands, we all know about it pretty quick.

What we will never know, as in most instances like these, is whether he was the one actually in control of his hands. And that is why we have unending compassion for his family, his friends, and him. Unending compassion for anyone in those dark waters.

As per usual, in the days following the death, there's been a flood of touching Facebook statuses, a sharing and re-sharing of the obituary. I'm not sure why I'm joining the chorus. I did not know him. He was almost 10 years younger than me. But I met his little sister, heard his name for the first time, a few days before it happened, so that's something.

I've been thinking a lot about hope, recently. Partly because of an Indiegogo campaign I've been co-designing. Partly because what else is there to do? Mostly because hope is what keeps me, personally, alive.

Solomon said that where there is no vision, the people perish.* Arguably, one cannot have vision without first having hope. And then there's David. He acknowledged that he held his life in his hands continually, but he did not forget the Law of the Lord.** Remembering, instead of forgetting, requires hope. Hope fuels everything. Hope is a powerhouse; it is the mitochondria of the soul.

Most of us know that hope is hard to do. What I tend to forget is what hope actually looks like. Especially when, by some miracle that must have been misplaced, a hope that I have had is fulfilled. Whether large or small, upon receipt, I immediately book a ticket for a guilt trip. Instead of seeing years of victorious waiting, I look back and see years of waiting in defeat. I beat myself up for spending years struggling, instead of years smiling blissfully.

But that is not what hope looks like all the time. Expressing hope is not necessarily standing there with a smile on your face.

Hope in its purest form is crawling through mud on a dark night that lasts for years.

Hope is brass casings scattered on the ground, bullets embedded in demons instead of triggered into your own head.

Hope is the rancid smell of sweat.

Hope leaves tear stains.

Hope draws blood.

Because of his hope for the joy that was to come, Jesus Christ nailed himself to a cross.*** 

Guts before glory.

That's the thing. The glory does come, children. There's just a lot of guts between you and it.

And if you are like me, and you think you're not a hopeful person, probably, you actually are hopeful.

You've just forgotten that hope in action looks and feels—and is—dark. It is hope fulfilled that is so light. And most of our lives are not spent in fulfillment.

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*Proverb 29:18, **Psalm 119:109, ***Hebrews 12:2