How to hold on to the hope that is rightfully yours

Hope has been a somewhat elusive creature lately. As soon as I think I have it in my grasp, it wriggles around and slides right through the grip of my fingers. And then somewhere during the day, it turns up hidden in a corner where I try to snatch it up, only to find it has vanished yet again.

Hope can be a funny, fickle sort of thing. Well, not so much hope itself, but what we put our hope in.

We live in a world where shiny things are always in front of our faces—a click away—and close at hand. We can easily misplace our hope by setting it on things other than where it belongs.

Meanwhile, in our search for the newest, shiniest place to set our hope, there is someone observing closely all along. We have an Enemy who prides himself on hope-stealing. He knows our weaknesses well, and the book of Peter warns us that he is “prowling around like a roaring lion seeking someone to devour.”

He’s looking for ways to devour us now, and I would bet that 99% of the time, he wants to start his munching on our heads. He locks his unforgiving jaws around our minds and slowly begins the devouring process. He snakes his way into our thoughts, reminiscent of that old serpent talking to Eve way back when, and steals the hope that is rightfully ours.

This is his M.O.

What is my hope in?

This hope-stealing Enemy climbs into our minds when we’re discouraged or weak. He does not play nice and wait for the storm we’re in to pass. Unfortunately, our own desires work against us, too. The combination can make placing and keeping hope where it needs to be difficult. No, it’s not impossible, but it is challenging, especially when hope is harder to hold onto.

This year has been stormy, to put it mildly, and since hope has seemed like a distant dream, I knew I needed a hope inventory. Oh, how I’ve discovered how easily I shift my gaze from heaven’s gate to the marshland of my earthly dwelling place!

I have been grasping for hope in so many places:

My health, which will most certainly one day fade.

A new home, which will one day be old and decay.

Family, who are only human.

The hope of life returning to “normal”; we are never promised normal.

The hope of sunny days; and it’s always bound to rain…

Hoping in Him

It’s not that I’m saying we shouldn’t enjoy these things in our lives and hope for them; it’s just that we stumble when we put our hope in them.

I have made a mistake so many times of putting my hope in places that crumble, and people who are mortal—myself included—and I’ve been so disappointed.

In our world, there is what seems like non-stop pain and hurt. How many can attest to that right now? Most, I would assume, and often our Enemy is close by to point out that God is to blame.

Because of this, it’s easy to bring our hope a little closer to our earthly abode, hoping in what we can do, where we can go, and our own mortal abilities to make a change. At least we have control this way, right?

When, in reality, our hopeful gaze needs to be turned back to the cross, hope was completely guaranteed over 2,000 years ago on an old wooden cross. Bloodstained and burdened, this cross, and more importantly, the man upon it, brought about all the hope we could ever need.

When we neglect our time with the provider of our soul, the giver of our life, we wither on the vine. And again, our Enemy is close at hand to remind us why we shouldn’t be hoping in him at all.”Look at the pain,” he whispers, “Where is he now?” He sneers. “He’s not doing anything to help” is the chorus he sings as we shift our hope from Him to something movable and uncertain.

Where hope is found

There is a Bible verse in Jeremiah that I just love. It grounds me when I’m on a hope hunt for some new, shiny thing.

Thus says the Lord,
“Stand by the ways and see and ask for the ancient paths,
Where the good way is, and walk in it;
And you will find rest for your souls.’ Jeremiah 6:16

When we grasp for that elusive hope creature, all we have to do is return to the ancient path, the one where our savior walks—right where Jesus died and rose for us.

True and lasting hope is what Jesus gave the day he rose from out of the grave.

Real hope came out of the darkest imaginable place: death. And through it, he gave us hope. It is ours. No one—not even that old serpent—can take it.

Our hope is solid, though we can’t see it just yet.

There are so many things that we can’t see visibly other than the effect they cause:

We know there’s wind because we see it move in the trees.

We believe the sun is still present even when covered by clouds.

Love is apparent because of the actions of others.

And even our Enemy is real because of the pain we see and feel.

Real hope isn’t all that different. I believe authentic hope is most significant when you can barely see because this is where faith works the best. The most enormous faith is often won through the darkest, most brutal battles. This is where we come to the end of ourselves and any false hope we may have held onto.

Genuine hope differs from a wish, a happy thought, or some desire for a particular event. Tangible hope is grounded in a truth that is so much bigger than any reality we see in front of us. It is trusting in someone who sees the whole picture we could never see.

When we are deeply rooted in God’s abundant grace, clinging to the truth he whispers our way, even the Enemy’s most tempestuous storm and insidious lies can not steal our hope. As it says in Jeremiah; this is where we will find rest for our souls—our weary tired souls.

As always, friend, thank you for stopping by,