Signs of Hope

Before GPS and Google maps, I would use a map when driving. Maps would guide me to my final destination, but I needed the signs along the way. Those signs told me that I was on the right road and would tell me how far to the next city.

Signs gave me hope. Henri Nouwen’s words reflect this:

“When we become aware that we do not have to escape our pains, but that we can mobilize them into a common search for life, those very pains are transformed from expressions of despair into signs of hope.” 

-- Henri Nouwen --

In my early days of grieving, I needed signs of hope, something I could see, hear or touch. When I saw the beauty in a sunset, I was reminded that time will continue. When I smelled the flowers in my yard, I could see how time causes growth. When I opened a card or note from a friend, I felt seen and encouraged.  These became visible symbols of hope.

Somedays I felt like there was a gray fog covering the signs of hope. Like driving in the fog, we can only see what’s right in front of us, not the entire landscape. Emerging from the fog is a gradual process. We don’t go from deep fog to bright sunlight in a minute. We move out of the fog into the sunlight, slowly and gradually.

Hope is like that. Hope is a moving forward, amidst our loss. Hope is a moving away from fear. Hope is found as we keep going, daily depending on the Giver of Hope to sustain us, carry us, guide us, and hold us.

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download

When It Feels Like Too Much

I wrote another blog post but found with the current events, it didn’t seem appropriate. There’s a lot going on and it feels like too much.  Two years of Covid and quarantine, our own personal stories of loss and grief, and now a war across the ocean that we can’t escape knowing about.  It’s a lot.  How do we respond when it all feels so heavy?

This quote by Henri Nouwen gives a perspective.  “Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human.”

One of the outcomes of my own journey through grief has been opening myself up to the pain of others.  I can’t not feel something when I hear of someone’s loss. I can’t not enter while watching from the sidelines.  Compassion has made a permanent parking place in my soul.  As we open ourselves to be compassionate, we discover we have something to offer. 

We can give hope. We can wait in hope.

We can pray in hope. We cling to hope,

knowing our prayers are heard,

even if we never see the answers.

There’s a verse in Zechariah 9:12 (CSB) that gives us a picture of this, “Return to your stronghold, you prisoners who have hope.”  Prisoner of hope?  Could this be where we find ourselves today?  We can be captive to hope, while in the midst of pain, brokenness, and despair.

We have hope. We can pray; We can bring our tears to God. We can offer up sighs and groans to our Heavenly Father for those we see suffer. Let us be taken hostage by hope.

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download