Growing Hope: A Week in Review
Last week I committed to a week-long focus on hope. My goal was to move beyond the seemingly lovely ideal into the nitty gritty real-life practice of cultivating and maintaining hope--the virtue that sustains us when we're hit with the real stuff life throws at us. As promised, here's my review of how it all turned out.
The week by normal standards was fairly average. There was plenty of the usual chaos, some expected and unexpected frustrations, and lots of delightful little happenings that truly redeemed even the greatest of those frustrations. I saw prayers answered, and wait still for some questionsand hopes that remain unanswered. Not a whole lot changed in my world, nothing overly crazy happened, but I did notice a definitive shift in my perspective.
Ultimately, I confirmed that hope is hard (shocker). But I honestly surprised myself with how well I actually remembered what I was supposed to be working on. (That's kind of a big deal here, mommy brain and all). I was very diligent about putting on my hope-colored glasses in almost every circumstance I encountered--big, small, or in-between.
There were moments of hoping in the little things, like managing childish behavior with the hope that one day I'll discover the secret that all the consortiums of parenting experts and libraries of parenting books have still failed to reveal (more reasonably, I put superhuman hope in the stain-removing power of my favorite cleaning product):
There were moments moments of hoping in the medium things, like our continued weekly sessions spent working through life's fears and anxities.
There was hope in the big things, like the outcome of a beloved family member's appointment for health issues. (One of those things testing us in extending our hope, as the one appointment led to another of even greater importance).
And in things eternal, like a special moment shared with my husband on October 15th, hoping that we as parents remember to do our very best through the ups and downs and craziness of this life, so that we can really celebrate together with all of our loves in the grand family reuinion that awaits us in our forever life.
There were the little joys:
A surprise date night full of quality time,
And our very first loose [and subsequently lost] tooth...an insane amount of joy on her part; a whole lot of carefully masked tears on mine.
And there were the intangibles:
...like the soul-baring and soul-feeding conversations with dear friends as we continue to pour hope into each others' lives.
...like the hope that I can be an increasingly better guide, teacher, and role model to our growing kids, especially after being blindsided by a loose tooth that reminded me in a very real way of how quickly they develop--mind, body, and soul.
...and the hope that I can do a better job of soaking in the moments and being a fully present party instead of peddling the moments away, one eye always on the screen. This is where I fail most in the necessity to act; I can hope all I want to share these moments, but only if I actively put down the phone or peel my eyes away from the distractions will I ever make a change...or experience the fruits of that hope.
I spent a bit of time in thought, too. I reflected on the fact that there are many different facets of hope. The confidence factor: do we have the willingness to even give something a shot? The endurance factor: can we keep renewing our hope when the focus becomes blurry--keep renewing it when we're being strung along through days and months and years of failure after failure with only the faintest of lights at the end of the tunnel? The faith factor: do we have enough faith to create a pinpoint of faint light when there is none? The determination factor: can we admit that not everything will be butterflies and roses, but still understand that the level of effort we put into our hope, the hard work we do in wading through the thick mud of reality when we most want to quit, is often when we gain the most ground spiritually? The gift factor: do we find ways to pass along hope to others when all roads point to defeat or despair?
And as heavy as these thoughts might sound as they flow through my fingers, this 'average' week has felt increasingly lighter. The challenges haven't changed, but like I said, my shift in perspective has made all the difference. The joys are a little sweeter and the gratitude more palpable; I've demanded from myself a little more patience when I'd normally blow my top, and required a little extra thought before acting or reacting. The shift has forced me to re-evaluate potential outcomes, and respond in a more positive and hope-filled manner to the actual outcomes. All small steps that together wind toward the summit and present a much clearer view of the truth.
Hard work, this hope. But worth another round--for sure.
The week by normal standards was fairly average. There was plenty of the usual chaos, some expected and unexpected frustrations, and lots of delightful little happenings that truly redeemed even the greatest of those frustrations. I saw prayers answered, and wait still for some questionsand hopes that remain unanswered. Not a whole lot changed in my world, nothing overly crazy happened, but I did notice a definitive shift in my perspective.
Ultimately, I confirmed that hope is hard (shocker). But I honestly surprised myself with how well I actually remembered what I was supposed to be working on. (That's kind of a big deal here, mommy brain and all). I was very diligent about putting on my hope-colored glasses in almost every circumstance I encountered--big, small, or in-between.
There were moments of hoping in the little things, like managing childish behavior with the hope that one day I'll discover the secret that all the consortiums of parenting experts and libraries of parenting books have still failed to reveal (more reasonably, I put superhuman hope in the stain-removing power of my favorite cleaning product):
 |
| Even got a favorable outcome. Phew! |
There were moments moments of hoping in the medium things, like our continued weekly sessions spent working through life's fears and anxities.
There was hope in the big things, like the outcome of a beloved family member's appointment for health issues. (One of those things testing us in extending our hope, as the one appointment led to another of even greater importance).
And in things eternal, like a special moment shared with my husband on October 15th, hoping that we as parents remember to do our very best through the ups and downs and craziness of this life, so that we can really celebrate together with all of our loves in the grand family reuinion that awaits us in our forever life.
There were the little joys:
A surprise date night full of quality time,
And our very first loose [and subsequently lost] tooth...an insane amount of joy on her part; a whole lot of carefully masked tears on mine.
And there were the intangibles:
...like the soul-baring and soul-feeding conversations with dear friends as we continue to pour hope into each others' lives.
...like the hope that I can be an increasingly better guide, teacher, and role model to our growing kids, especially after being blindsided by a loose tooth that reminded me in a very real way of how quickly they develop--mind, body, and soul.
...and the hope that I can do a better job of soaking in the moments and being a fully present party instead of peddling the moments away, one eye always on the screen. This is where I fail most in the necessity to act; I can hope all I want to share these moments, but only if I actively put down the phone or peel my eyes away from the distractions will I ever make a change...or experience the fruits of that hope.
I spent a bit of time in thought, too. I reflected on the fact that there are many different facets of hope. The confidence factor: do we have the willingness to even give something a shot? The endurance factor: can we keep renewing our hope when the focus becomes blurry--keep renewing it when we're being strung along through days and months and years of failure after failure with only the faintest of lights at the end of the tunnel? The faith factor: do we have enough faith to create a pinpoint of faint light when there is none? The determination factor: can we admit that not everything will be butterflies and roses, but still understand that the level of effort we put into our hope, the hard work we do in wading through the thick mud of reality when we most want to quit, is often when we gain the most ground spiritually? The gift factor: do we find ways to pass along hope to others when all roads point to defeat or despair?
And as heavy as these thoughts might sound as they flow through my fingers, this 'average' week has felt increasingly lighter. The challenges haven't changed, but like I said, my shift in perspective has made all the difference. The joys are a little sweeter and the gratitude more palpable; I've demanded from myself a little more patience when I'd normally blow my top, and required a little extra thought before acting or reacting. The shift has forced me to re-evaluate potential outcomes, and respond in a more positive and hope-filled manner to the actual outcomes. All small steps that together wind toward the summit and present a much clearer view of the truth.
Hard work, this hope. But worth another round--for sure.
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