“…Just give hope a chance to float up.”
Hope Floats was destined to be my favorite movie, simply because of the name. The nuggets of humor and quotes found in it just sealed the deal.
The only thing I can fully understand about prayer and meditation, is how hopeless and helpless I would feel without them. Hopelessness being a deep, dark cavern – with walls that seem to slowly close in around us, inch by inch. I can’t explain why some prayers are answered and some are not. Most times for me, digging for answers only creates more questions.
I once was given a mind-opening visual on sin that I feel could pertain to prayer as well. Place yourself on a sidewalk in the city, surrounded by the buildings that represent our needs and prayers. Some being so urgent and desperate for us, they are skyscrapers reaching tall into the clouds. Yet God has a different view. Perhaps as He looks down on His beloveds, He sees our needs and prayers as the same height. He hears our conversational prayers, our desperate prayers, our mono-tone, memorized prayers. He even knows our unspoken prayers. Yet, He also has the aerial view of our location and the map of where we are going. He sees the whole picture, whereas we can only see our little corner of the world in current time. He also knows that time is eternal, whereas we can sometimes be blinded by wanting more moments of togetherness, in our flesh suits.
We have a ritual of saying nightly prayers with our boys. Before we dive into prayer, we take a minute for them to share what they are thankful for. This gets a little habitual from time to time. No matter the whole list, it always begins with, “Friends, family, animals, shelter, sports, parents…”. (Apparently, parents are a completely different category from family.) We sometimes give gentle reminders to really open their minds to ALL of our blessings. Once, we threw out the idea of waking up in the morning with ONLY the things we gave thanks for tonight. Which added a whole extra hour of air time, with long lists that included shoelaces, cheese graters, and football gloves. Well played kiddos, well played.
The hardest part about our family prayer time is taking out a prayer. Someone who has been on our prayer list and removed because our cries were answered in ways we didn’t choose. Death leaves a void in so many places, our prayers included. It is heart wrenching to hear the hitch in my husband’s voice as he gets to the part in the prayers where our loved one’s name was, to be reminded again that we are not in control. As Shauna Niequist says, “We, in our humanness, cannot help but foolishly desire eternity in this life.”
In the past eighteen months, we have stood by three different friends as they have buried their sons. I don’t know how they are still breathing through the magnitude of sorrow. It feels incredibly mean that they are still walking on earth without their son in their arms. With each situation, we begged for God to heal their child. Pleaded for their healing, claimed miracles in their names. Only to later categorize these prayers as “unanswered” in my heart and on my list. I believe there is a bigger plan, but sometimes life is just unbearable.
In May, we gathered to mourn and honor Madden Drew McCormick, his parents chose the beautiful song “Even If” to be sung. As we sat there, tears streaming, it was the sweetest, most vulnerable feeling to absorb those lyrics. It was as if the veil of comprehending was as thin as it’s going to be, and our Creator’s comfort was a soft blanket, tucking itself around all the aching hearts. It was surrender – the sweetest version of Thy will be done.
“I know you’re able and I know you can, save through the fire with your mighty hand.
But, even if you don’t, my hope is You alone.
I know the sorrow, I know the hurt – would all go away if you just say the word.
But even if you don’t, my hope is You alone.”
My hope is You alone…even when mountains remain unmovable.
Madden’s balloon send off. Photo courtesy of Madden’s mom, Jenny McCormick.
The opposite of not getting your hopes up is not harboring any. A life without hope seems so bleak. Hope assures us that we will see and hold our beloveds again. Hope keeps us afloat in the bitter times and bubbles at our feet in the sweet ones. Hope reminds us that the sun will rise again tomorrow. Hope gently encourages us to keep walking and whispers “It is well with my soul” over and over, until we believe it enough to proclaim it.
Hope professes “earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal.”
And that, I can cling to.
Questions we can live with…hope we cannot.
