Living Hope: Choosing Light in Darkness

Disappointment always hits the gut first.

Inhale… exhale.

Unwanted news throws its first punch like lightning, but the reality of grief creeps up from the gut like thunder. Cause and effect — intertwined, yet separated. The theory that nothing travels faster than light is wrong. Pain travels twice as fast.

So you lean back into the reality of bad news and heartburn. And then the questions come.

Why…? What if…? How did…?

Different scenarios haunt the mind relentlessly.

I no longer wonder why “hope deferred makes the heart sick” (Proverbs 13:12). When hope seems beyond deferred, my heart aches in pandemonium.

It’s fascinating how quickly our minds start calculating a backup plan the minute devastation pounces on our circumstances. What was once so hopeful and planned is now shaky and unsure. Our balance is called into question. Deep breaths are hard to push through, and our bodies need centering — it’s why we naturally crouch down to the ground.

Bearings are essential in times of pain. But the question is: what foundational truths have we cultivated to cling to in times of despair?

The quick fix

In times like this, my go-to sin usually comes wrapped in a nice package. Instead of going to God, I go elsewhere — anywhere that provides relief. I often think I need comfort from unnatural resources instead of choosing the supernatural Spirit of God.

Why do we so easily hand our lives over to a temporary false bliss in the middle of turmoil? Food, alcohol, shopping, sex, entertainment, pills…

Unmet desires are sometimes meant to stay unmet for a while. Mix that with a dose of rejection, hurt, abandonment, or neglect, and our sin becomes painfully clear. And as humans living in the 21st century, the struggle is real, with so many quick fixes available 24/7.

I’m learning (very slowly, and with lots of grace) that it’s right in the middle of failure, rejection, bad news, and disappointment that the most important half-second response happens: wild-abandoned faith, or habitual comfort.

The crux of the problem always comes back to trust:

• Is God in this?
• Will the power of the Holy Spirit really show up in me?
• Can I choose to walk in the light?

My plan A and plan B

I’ve committed my plan A and plan B to opening Scripture and saying a prayer. Or the other way around. Or both at the same time.

Here’s why: when unexpected, traumatic heartburn hits — and I learn to give it a moment to settle — the impulsive feelings screaming for my attention start to die down. Then I can choose wise things that turn my attention to Jesus. Singing a hymn or reading Scripture immediately puts hope back into context. I’m reminded that Jesus (and His promises) are eternal, and my disappointment is temporary. Kingdom living comes back into the equation. My focus shifts, and my heart learns to anchor there.

This takes a lifetime of futile attempts, practice, failing, and starting over again… and again, and again.

Immediate gratification still rears its ugly head. But my habits — and I’d argue, ultimately my character — change when I bravely choose wild-abandoned faith over habitual comfort.

Listen to me, friends: this is never fun in the beginning. Ever. It’s just like learning to run or work out — it’s tough at first. But with fresh, sober, steadfast determination, good muscles grow, and I find a peace and progress that shine in the dark.

My sister-friend

I met with a sister-friend the other day. She told me her story with joy and tears and all the adjectives that describe life on a hard journey. Her story has parts of mine and yours and of all the women who have walked this life with God.

She’s honest about her pain, but what comes through is the hope that carries her. Yes, she acknowledges the devastation of yesterday — knowing Jesus is her today.

My friend is a beautiful example of an honest, God-fearing woman who’s comfortable admitting her displeasure with crappy circumstances and unmet expectations (how I wish more women would buck the system and say truth like this out loud), while testifying about the love of God that does not waver. Because she believes — and her comfort isn’t the top priority. Becoming more like Jesus absolutely is.

The road is narrow. Against all hope, in hope, she believes that God has a plan specifically for her and loves her, despite the heartburn and pain. She’s gotten familiar with handing her sadness and unmet expectations over to Jesus.

She chooses to walk in the light amid the disappointment of dreams of a different life. Her heart rests squarely on doing and being in the will of God.

And I want to be just like her.

Be there, in it.

Here’s what I’m realizing: I don’t get the chance at an eternally significant story if I can’t learn to choose Jesus while facing the pain and discomfort of today.

We get less and less Spirit-led happenstance when we keep choosing comfort from unnatural resources over the supernatural presence of the Living God. If we want soul-hope when the heart is sick, we have to commit to ditching everything that helps us escape the discomfort — and choose to walk in the light.

And be there, in it.

Let’s watch what happens to our stories when we allow the Holy Spirit to work, and move, and change our hard circumstances into a living, breathing testimony of hope — because we’re courageous enough to choose Jesus today, and tomorrow, and the day after that.

When we find ourselves in the hallways of anger and the shadows of doubt, may our response be to call on the Lord and use our collective voice as candles to blot out the darkness. Because we are His workmanship, created for good things, and all the powers of hell cannot and will not overcome.

Because it is finished.

Friends, we have got to learn not to be afraid of the dark and the heartburn that comes with it. We have to believe, even as we sit there in it, and pray:

If anyone knows pain, rejection, hurt, abuse, and neglect, it’s God, who took our sin and made it His to bear. Jesus died so that we might live.

Anchor your hope in a God who takes your shaky choice of Him and turns it into a testimony of fire — ablaze for His glory and His cause, immovable. Because, friends, He will wipe away every tear, and He is bringing you to a good place: a place where God will restore all things to His complete glory and honor.

— Jen