Sometimes my hope seems to be solar powered. When the sun is shining, all is well, and I feel hope for so many things. Then darkness descends as night falls or the storm clouds occlude my view of the sun, and I despair. My hope fades with the light.
There are times though when the fickle nature of my hope is really only a reflection of my own fickle emotions. I spend years hoping and praying and working to rebuild a relationship, for example, and then the person does or says something that reminds me why I don't like them much and suddenly my thoughts are, I'm done. Forget it. Why do I even want to rebuild this relationship? And all hope that things will ever be different, much less better, is quenched within, until I get out of my self, stop trying to control other people and myself and submit to God's will in my life and relationships. Then I return like the prodigal to the place where I try to accept and love as Jesus does, as they are, not as they should be, and I hope that my part in the relationship will be an example of the love and way of God, and that will transform both the relationship and all involved, including me. Hope returns as I get out of the way and don't tie it to the yo-yo of my emotions and selfish whims.
The issue is that sometimes my wants are His wants, and others they are both His and mine as I want what He wants, and, of course, sometimes I slip on the ice of selfishness and I only want my way. When that happens it's not that I lose hope or that hope dies. It's that I no longer wish to have, pray for or work towards the goal. I don't care because I don't want it. It's too much effort. It's too much sacrifice. It costs too much.That's when I have no hope that the will of God will overcome the situations and circumstances, because I am myself outside of His will in my heart and motives, even if it hasn't yet become evident in my actions.
Seriously, sometimes I am such a whiny brat. It costs too much, is too hard, is too much of a sacrifice, too tiring or painful? Because I was such a selfish, messed up man that I couldn't want to do it right most times and couldn't hope to live for anyone else but myself, even as I destroyed the self I lived for, the King of all creation gave up His throne, became like me and like you, subject to the hell and desperation of life under the curse, surrounded by the spiritual disease that stems from separation from our Creator. Then He did what we were supposed to do but never could. He put the welfare of others and the will of Daddy before His own best interests, comfort, pleasure and security, He loved and gave because of that love, right up to the point where He gave His very life in place of ours. He loves us when we are enemies, when we are stupid and selfish and annoying, and He loved in a way that took all He had in effort, in the amount of suffering He could endure and still live, and even in all the rewards that come with doing it right. He even shared His inheritance with us, and gave us His resources to live and love like someone who is not an annoying, selfish, broken mess. When I remember that, how can I consider it too much to treat someone like they are worth the effort of being kind to and to continue to try to show love and acceptance, no matter how annoying and selfish they may seem?
That's the crux of the matter. My hope is fickle. It comes and goes as my ability to see past my circumstances varies, or as my situations shift. It changes from hot too cold in minutes as what I want and my selfishness pushes and pulls on my emotions. It even ebbs and wanes as my desires fluctuate between what I want over all and long term and what I want right this instant. Sometimes I want to feel different, to escape the now, to get my way this instant and tomorrow be damned. Five minutes future be damned for that matter. When I get like that my hopes of remaining clean and sober recede, and I am in danger of throwing everything away on an impulse that will bring only shame, pain and misery. But that is my nature. That's what I do. I cast myself into the sea and then curse the waves.
My success in avoiding the rocks exposed by those changing tides is not in wanting the long term more or in playing the movie through, or in trying to avoid the fear of the shame and other consequences. My hope is not in my will or in any little tricks to manipulate myself, because I am as fickle as my hope. I can't be counted on. My hope is built on the guidance of the Spirit to let me know when I am straying into the danger zone of rip tides and sharks, on His desire to see me safe and secure and succeeding, even when I don't care, and in His dispensing the power to enable me to put my impulses, desires and will on the cross with Christ and surrender to the will of Daddy, who loves me and always takes me to what is best for me. That hope, the hope that is built on the power of God granted me by the work of Jesus, has not failed me. That hope is the foundation for over seven and a half years of sobriety. What God has done and continues to do for me, He will do for you, if you'll let Him, no matter what the area of your life needs His touch and no matter how many times you have fallen short or how fickle you may be. He is faithful, able and sure, and a hope placed in Him will not falter.
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