The Relationship of Honesty & Hope…Part II
Yeah, there’s a lot to say about this topic. I’ve obviously been thinking it about it a lot lately. : )
Part I spoke of honesty because I am learning you have to be honest before you can experience real HOPE. It’s not a band-aid meant to temporarily soothe a wound. It’s not just a word to casually wave around, like a magician’s wand. It’s meant to change your life.
And even among the difficult things I mentioned in the previous post, I want people to know that I’ve come to experience and see a lot of really beautiful things that let me know hope brings life.
For all the moments of isolation I have felt at times, I have also never known better friendships. I have a group of friends that have let me be honest when I am ready to be honest, who let me hold their baby and still pursue me amidst my own effort to hide at times. And they do this, even as some of them figure out this whole motherhood thing for themselves. They are gentle. They are loving. They encourage without ever lecturing, (which I have found isn’t always the easiest thing to do).
But I’m also surrounded by an amazing group of people in my home community. We’re a group diverse in age, background, occupation, and experience, committed to exploring and living out what it means to have Christ’s Gospel transform every part of your life. It’s a place to ask tough questions and wrestle and still be loved.
But most importantly, what my friends/home community offer is way more valuable to me than laughter over a Tuesday night happy hour, or a shoulder to cry on. They always offer perspective. Never in forms of a lecture. But because they allow me the space to tell my story, they also walk with me in it. And they tell me theirs.
And then the realization of hope comes. In a way, my story becomes theirs, and theirs mine. We all experience hurt in our way, we all have our own silent wounds we carry and are afraid to show others. We all struggle with disappointment and dashed hopes. We fear and fight, curse and cry.
But we also love, and deeply at that. We extend and receive forgiveness. We show and experience grace. We marvel and delight. We celebrate and share in one another’s joy.
We serve as reminders to each other that we were not meant to do life by ourselves. Their stories, so vast and different from mine, remind me that God is good. They remind me that hardships happen that can’t always be explained with a “Sunday school” answer. They let me know that grief is okay and that beauty can be found its ashes. And so for every moment of isolation I sometimes feel, I have another hundred moments of people rallying around me. Not towering over me and screaming at me to pick myself up, but rather they are there on the ground with me, reminding me of truth and that I am loved. And when I am ready to stand and take another step, they are there holding my hand.
This is my community. The broken, the bound. The freed, the joyous.
I guess what I find so hopeful about all of this is that it wasn’t an after thought or accident. God gives us each other…a part in His story.
There may be a day where I have to accept that life may not ever come in the form of my own child. But I will tell you, with all certainty, life is constantly bursting forth in ME.