Hold onto Hope

A glimmer of the possibility of something positive.

You don’t want to get your hopes up, now, I found myself thinking, You know this most likely isn’t going to work out.  You’re just setting yourself up for disappointment.

I fought back tears as I scraped vege scraps into the compost bin in the garden.    No, it probably won’t work out.  It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t work out.  I don’t really care if it doesn’t work out.  At least I’ll know I tried.

Then I suddenly realised – when did I start making a habit of talking myself out of hope?  The refrain “Don’t get your hopes up” has been part of my inner dialogue for as long as I can remember.  Reinforced by well-meaning advice from many different people over the years.

But if it’s true, why do I feel so much grief at the loss of hope?  No wonder it takes so much energy to push through the doubts, if I have to convince myself that it doesn’t really matter anyway just to get started.
Surely hope’s not a bad thing?

Hope deferred makes the heart sick (Proverbs 13:12, ESV).

So why do I find it so hard to allow myself to hope?  Because I fear disappointment?  Surely the grief at the loss of hope is as painful as, if not more than, the potential disappointment would be.

Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation (Psalm 42:5, ESV)

For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence,
for my hope is from him. (Psalm 62:5, ESV)

Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. (Romans 12:12, ESV)

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for. (Hebrews 11:1, ESV)

It’s okay, I told myself, You’re allowed to have hope.  Go ahead and hope as much as you want.  If disappointment comes we’ll just deal with it then.
 
But it was too late.  Where the hopeful glimmer had been was now just hollowness again.  But I’ll be watching myself next time so I can learn to hold more tightly to hope when it comes again.

So this happened: again.

This hit.

Source: http://www.stuff.co.nz/national/76869691/photos-christchurch-hit-by-57-magnitude-earthquake

http://www.stuff.co.nz/the-press/76868658/LIVE-5-7-earthquake-hits-Christchurch

Just as I started my Love Your Bible study group.  I was just getting to the "drop cover hold" point when the assistant pastor ran into the room yelling for us to go outside.

Flashbacks to 5 years ago. I sat in the carpark while the building was being checked, trying to concentrate on breathing and explaining to a more recent arrival to this City why I cannot get used to this.

Once the all clear was given we continued our study, but once I got home the emotions hit. I got the the curling up into a small qivering ball stage

.

I had been getting better.  I am confident I will do so again.  But I will  never  get used to this.

Dreams become reality

Five years ago, back when this city was still reeling through aftershocks, the council set up a city-wide brainstorming session for the rebuild called "Share an Idea."  This was Young Lady's contribution:


It appears every other child who contributed had a similar suggestion, because nearly five years later, here's the reality:


 

 

 

 
  

This is the generation this city is being rebuilt for.   This is the where the future vibrancy and creativity that is the outstanding feature of the New Christchurch will come from.

After so many frustrations with the slowness of the recovery, the delays, insurance companies, red tape, it's encouraging to see something wished for, hoped for, dreamed actually come to pass.

Holy Love

Holy Love, calling to me,
”Come with me, come further in.”
Take my hand
to lead me through shadows,
If I stumble,
you won’t let me fall.
Holy Love, bring me home.

Mary

She felt the wave of pain spread up over her abdomen, increasing in intensity.  She tried to breathe the way her mother has shown her, deep slow breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth.  She had to stop walking for a moment, leaning on Joseph’s arm as the wave peaked and passed.  He looked at her with concern.  She was needing to pause more frequently for the last couple of miles.  She knew what he was worried about:  this was slowing them down, and they needed to reach Bethlehem before dark.
She rubbed at the small of her back, took a deep, determined breath, and began walking again.  Earlier one of the others travelling with them had offered her a ride on their donkey, but the jolting was too uncomfortable, it made her back ache worse . 
She could feel the pressure of the baby pushing down into her pelvis. She was tired and sore – her back was sore, her belly was sore, even her thighs were sore.  There had been several times this day where she wasn’t sure if she could do this after all.
“I am the Lord’s servant,” she whispered, to remind herself.  That day seemed so long ago now, yet she was sure of the vision she’d seen.  She’d clung to the memory through the mocking and shunning of the other women and girls once the news of her condition spread through Nazareth.  She continued to cling to the vision and the promise now, when it was just so hard. 
As she walked, she hardly noticed any more the road and the fields they were passing.  She held onto Joseph, trusting him to guide her. Walk, pause, breathe through the contraction, start walking again. If only she could rest.  She was barely aware as Joseph knocked on the door of his cousin’s house, the brief conversation, then the turning away to walk once more through the streets.  She only vaguely noticed Joseph say something about another relative the could try, a more distant cousin who might still have some room.
As yet another contraction swept over her, she wondered briefly if this day would ever end. 
The contractions were consuming all her concentration.  She heard voices as if from a great distance.  Gentle hands guided her onto a small straw pallet.  A woman’s voice, “It’s okay, Mary, I’m a midwife.  It won’t be long now.”
A midwife.  Mary felt a great tension she didn’t realise she’d had lift suddenly from her shoulders. Tears welled up from nowhere, spilling down her cheeks. The midwives in Nazareth had been among the women who shunned her.  She'd only had her cousin Elizabeth, then in the last few months her mother, to tell her about what to expect.  But the rumours and whispers had not reached Bethlehem, and Joseph was with her, and now here was an experienced midwife, with gentle hands and a reassuring voice.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she confessed to the midwife.
“You’re doing great,” the woman replied, “the baby will be here soon.”
Another wave of contraction spread over her.  Before it fully passed another started.  Mary felt her muscles tighten involuntarily, again and again.  “Just keep breathing,” the gentle voice reassured her. 
“Good girl, the head’s out now.  Just one more push with your next contraction.”
Then it was over, and the sound of a new-born baby’s cry filled the air.  “It’s a boy,” the voice said, placing the warm, wet, slippery baby up onto Mary’s belly.  She reached down to hold the baby, still partially attached to her body.  As she looked at him, his eyes opened, gazing into her face. “He’s so beautiful,” and all the tiredness and pain disappeared from from her mind.  She barely noticed the last few contractions and the midwife busying herself with the afterbirth.  Everything was about this child, this new life, and the promise and hope that he brought to her. 
“I am the Lord’s servant,” she whispered to the child, “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Magical Worlds

A small child, happily playing by herself, inhabiting magical worlds only she can see, is mocked and jeered at for not having any “real” friends.

So she learns to leave those worlds for night time dreams and supresses them during the day, learning to smile and be friendly and sociable.  Although for some reason she is always left on the fringes, despite her best efforts to “fit in.” 

Only when she’s completely alone does she re-enter her other worlds: worlds of forests and mountains, of music and magic, of rivers that sing and trees that whisper secrets if only you can learn to listen.

Over several decades more and more layers of “reality” smother and drown the magic and the music.  Walls of protection against ridicule and rejection bury her true self deeper and deeper.  As she grows into a woman, she learns to become “practical” and “real” and almost forgets such worlds ever existed, except in the fleeting way one remembers a dream after waking.

It’s a painful process, stripping away the pretence.  Aslan’s claws must dig deep to rip away the thick layers of lies.  Long forgotten wounds bleed afresh when exposed to the air in order to be cleansed.  Yet the truth must be unburied: the Truth that declares “I am unique.”

So the woman, accepting and embracing her uniqueness, learns to hear again the songs sung by wind and river and trees, the warm hum of soft earth, the deep bass of rock, the anthems of the mountains and the soaring soprano of the stars.  She learns to find her own voice in the symphony of creation, and her own Heart Song wells up within her of love and worship.

Then she sees her own child playing, inhabiting magical worlds where playmates are unable to follow.

O, My daughter, Do not let the world rob you of the wonder of your own imagination.  Do not smother your unique true self, nurture and embrace your creativity so when the time comes your inner light can shine forth unhindered.

Little Black Dog

Those who know me in person, or even the more observant readers, may have noticed a small, metaphorical, black dog hanging around my heels for several months.  The good news is that I feel I’ve now turned a corner in my recovery and I’ve been feeling “normal” for about a month.

Now I’m in a place I can look back over the journey through this particular valley of shadow, I’ve noticed we all need to have more conversations about faith and mental health.  This is a good article for a starting point.

Miriam’s post was the beginning of the turning point for me. Miriam wrote:

…do not be dismayed that you are downcast – because even those with the surest of promises wobble in the present from time to time.

Re-align your Hope and do not berate yourself. Being downcast by circumstance is not a sign you are a loser. You are in the company of King David and you dear one are loved just the same.

The thing is, if you’d asked me point blank about whether Christians can be depressed, I’d have said, of course, just like Christians can live with diabetes or any other illness.   The Psalmist, Jeremiah, Elijah – all experienced depressive episodes in their ministry.  But underneath that understanding there was a part of my subconscious that believed the lie, especially in the darkest moments, that what I was going through was a symptom of a lack of faith.   

When the shadow did lift, there was nothing I was doing or believing or praying any differently than when I was in the middle of it.  I’ve learned all I can do is Trust and Hope, knowing that the Father is carrying me through this season, and will bring me through it to the other side, even if that takes longer than I think it should.

Mine was only a small “black dog,” a number of dear friends are grappling with a larger, more persistent “black dogs.”  I wish was as easy as “do this and you’ll get better,” but this does not appear to be reality.  But you are still loved, still liked, still someone I care about and enjoy hanging out with.

As I continue to process what I’ve learned, I’ll come back and share a little more where I hope it will be an encouragement to anyone else out there going through this kind of stuff.  In the meantime: have courage my friend, and remember you don’t walk alone.