I remember this time last year. I was full of heartbreak, confusion, and a strange, desperate hope, praying through my tears each day that a letter would come. But it never did.
The fact that the letter never came does not discount the beauty of that season. It was the hope that fed my soul…
My tears are my food day and night…psalm 42:3
This verse is all too true for that season. I would race home from school, praying for a letter–for months–begging for a letter. I was that desperate widow from Luke 18. That parable and other verses of hope kept telling me to not give up, to hold on and hope. So I came to my Father daily in want. And I begged him, even though I knew what the answer was. And I hoped. I let myself painfully hope. It was in this time God’s words came to life like never before. His Scriptures were leading my every thought, every move. It was like a treasure map, a grand adventure that I was being led on. Every day led to a new discovery. It was in this time that I wrote "I am Weeping, Like Hannah,“ a simple blog post that blessed others’ hurting hearts. But the best part of that piece was watching my hand move in excitement as my mind was twirling. God’s words were jumping off the pages. He was revealing himself as wonderful.
And I was full of wonder.
And the month ended in a heartbreak. There was relief, and there were tears in that relief. A final goodbye; a final release. And I miss the wonder. I miss the excitement of turning each page as God revealed his pieces. Like the boys’ anxious hands when awaiting to see what shape the day’s chocolate piece is in their advent calendar, I woke up every day to new adventure, new revelation, new growth. And this was all in the midst of new heartache. Gosh, it was so wonderful; that nearness, that intimacy…
And now I understand that there are many kinds of hope, and, sometimes, it is a heavy hope. It can be an exciting hope (Like Christmas Eve) or it can be a heavy anticipation for a promise not yet given or fulfilled. An unmet desire. The Israelites waited hundreds of years. Hannah waited years. Mary waited nine months. And none of the fulfillments went according to plan. There was trial in the waiting. And I will never forget the heaviness of waiting for that letter, and the sweetness that came in holding onto that hope until the answer came, clear as crystal.