It's a strange paradox, isn't it? The act of hoping, even when hope feels absent. It can almost feel like speaking into a void and waiting for an echo that seemingly never comes.
But there's a quiet resilience in the act of unrelenting hope: a stubbornness that refuses to let go. It's the persistence to speak even when the silence is deafening. It's trusting that your hope is not in vain, even when we can’t see the other side from this side of heaven.
This kind of hope is not about immediate gratification or visible results; in fact, it’s anything but. It's about faith in the unseen, and faith in the possibility that something greater is at work, on its way to deliver us a peace that passes all understanding.
It's the courage to keep believing that the lights will eventually flicker back on. Courage to believe that the illuminated path was always there; just waiting on the right moment to reveal itself.
So if you’re somewhere along that journey today and hoping when it feels like your prayers are hitting the ceiling, it's easy to feel isolated and discouraged and like your words are lost in the void. I’m there too. You’re in good company, my friend.
The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.
Isaiah 9:2 reminds us that hope is not reserved for those who think they have everything figured out or possess unwavering faith. In fact, it’s the reality that only in the darkness are we able to fully see the light. The verse acknowledges that in our inevitable moments of doubt and struggle, we are never too far beyond the reach of the light.
This light is not a reward for perfection, but instead, a beacon for those who feel lost, guiding them on their journey towards hope and renewal. Only a light illuminating amidst the dark can reassure us that even when our prayers seem unanswered, we were never alone.
That there is a greater Light that sees us, hears us, and walks with us through the darkness.
Embracing this truth can transform our sense of despair into a quiet confidence that in spite of the silence, regardless of the unknown, we are seen, loved, and held, and that light will eventually break through.
Waiting doesn't mean nothing is moving. It just means we can't see it yet.
This week's practice: Before you grab your phone tomorrow morning, sit in silence for one full minute. No agenda. Just exist in the waiting. What is God trying to draw you towards? Where can you practice hoping amidst the darkness?
Honest prayer: God, my prayers feel like they're going nowhere, but I'm choosing to believe you're listening anyway. Help me hope in the darkness when I can't feel you moving. In Your Son’s name, I lift my cares up to you, with confidence you will come through for me again as you always have before. Amen.