'that nothing grows on
but time still goes on
and through each life of misery
everybody's got a hold on hope
it's that last thing, that's holding me.'
some days, my hope lies strictly in heaven. the knowledge that all things will be made right gets me through. everything here seems too hard.
some days my hope lies closer to now. that things might not always be this hard. that here on earth, even, I might experience great things.
some days, I pour out my hopes in words to a God I still don't understand. I step out and take that chance that maybe this will be the time the words I speak change something. but, at very least He's listening.
everyday, in our hallway, I walk by hope. she used to sit in our kitchen window. then on a shelf behind our couch before we moved. and, in the midst of all the really hard things over the past years, at some point, her hand fell off. I glued it back on. then, she disappeared (with some help from little) behind the couch until we moved it out. her hand was gone. missing. no more.
but, that other arm, still clung tightly to the balloon with the word hope. it was held high above her head. like she still believed there were things to hope for. reasons to hope.
day after day, she stands there. atop the shelf. beneath her another tiny sign with the word hope. the one I found when we were waiting for Abigail. those three hard years. and when I walk by them, I think of my friends who recently had miscarriages, who have lost littles, or who desperately want to be parents, and aren't yet. and I stop, and plead on their behalves. because that is hard. so very hard. and holding onto hope during that. yeap. just all of it is hard.
and I look up at her, right above. my sister gave her to me when we were waiting on Abigail. but, for some reason, she doesn't remind me of the pain of waiting. she reminds me that even with hospital stays and looming surgeries, seizures, scoliosis, and the future of tumors, that I can still hope. I can hope in a God who will redeem all things. i can hope that things won't always feel like i'm in a battle. i can hope for peace. a little girls to walk. to find out all of the things going on with Asher. that big's NF will continue to stay mild. that when we walk through hard things, our marriage will remain strong. we will learn over and over what it means to remain faithful.
in my brokenness, missing parts of me that I've tried to glue back on in hopes that other people might not notice, i'll continue to hold up my banner of hope.