The Power of Hope

As long as matters are really hopeful, hope is mere flattery or platitude. It is only when everything is hopeless that hope begins to be a strength at all.

That’s G.K. Chesterton. And I’ve been mulling his words all week long. Because we know Easter’s coming–we have reason to hope–but what about those early believers? To Christ’s friends and his followers, things must have looked hopeless. Their savior—their closest companion—had been brutally murdered. It seemed inconceivable that He’d live again. And when I see Mary at the tomb, mistaking the Lord for a gardener, I get it. I would have, too.

“It’s only when everything is hopeless that hope begins to be a strength at all.”

If you’ve ever stood facing the bleakness—in a marriage that’s broken beyond repair, a diagnosis where the doctors have done all they can, a child who’s walked away from his faith—you know exactly what Chesterton meant. Hope needs to be more than a platitude. It has to be some sort of anchor when it looks like there’s nothing to hold.

Hope has to work.

Which is, of course, what Easter is all about.

Scripture tells us that God, in his great mercy, gives us new birth into a living hope through Christ’s resurrection. It says that hope will not disappoint. And that hope is an unbreakable spiritual lifeline, reaching past all appearances right to the very presence of God.

Isn’t that a fabulous image? Hope really is a lifeline–a strength we can count on, no matter how hopeless things look.

And as we mark Good Friday today and look forward to Easter, I’m praying for you. I don’t know where you are or what you might be facing, but I know the God of hope. And I know that He’s faithful.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him.

You are loved. ❤️

 

 

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Anadiplosis and the Hike to Hope

Last week, I told you about Mark Forsyth’s book, The Elements of Eloquencein which he maintains that Shakespeare’s brilliance was rooted more in his ability to use literary tricks and techniques than in any sort of innate genius. One such technique is anadiplosis.

Anadiplosis won’t pass your computer’s spell check (I tried), and I doubt it’s something you’ll want to break out at a cocktail party, but it’s a good trick to know, particularly if you want to sound logical, progressive, or just well-balanced. Anadiplosis happens when you take the last word of a sentence or phrase and then use it to begin the next one:  A man takes a drink. The drink takes a drink. The drink takes the man.

Or consider this example, from Paul:

Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. (Romans 5:3-4)

I wasn’t thinking about anadiplosis when I went hiking recently. I was, however, thinking about suffering. I’m not much of a woods-and-squirrels girl, and I hadn’t intended to hike Sewanee’s 20-mile Perimeter Trail (or any part of it) when I started. My plan was to walk to a nearby overlook and…look over.

Which I did:

But then I noticed a trail map, conveniently posted next to the overlook. I had some time and I figured I could do a little bit of the trail. Like a mile, maybe. I could always come back later for the other 19.

Not being an experienced hiker (not being any sort of hiker), I didn’t bother to read the fine print. I saw the jagged emblem that meant “Difficult”…but how difficult could “Difficult” be? It was only a mile, for crying out loud. I’d be in and out in 15 minutes.

At first, I was captivated. To my left was a giant rock face. To my right was a 50-foot drop, just daunting enough to make you pay attention.

Everything was quiet (unless you count the sound of scurrying, which I tried not to). Peaceful. I felt like I was alone in the world.

Which, after about ten minutes, started to be less fun.

Nobody knew where I was, I hadn’t brought along any hiker stuff like water, and I didn’t need my Garden Club membership to help me identify the horticulture that grew, with unmitigated vigor, all over the trail:

I was just starting to think about mountain lions (I knew they’d found the bones of a prehistoric saber-toothed tiger nearby; might he or she have left any grandchildren?) when I rounded a bend and saw this:

A hole in the trail. Through a rock. Which was high.

Going up seemed out of the question. The opening was a good 15 feet above the trail (closer to 30, if you count the dirt part), and it was pretty much straight up, with no hand- or foot-holds I could detect. (You would think someone might put in a rope.)

I tried going around, but there was no trail to the right. Just a sheer, poison-ivy-coated drop into nothing but treetops.

And I thought about turning back. But honestly? That felt like quitting. Plus, I knew other moms who had done this part of the hike. (Or so they said.)

To put my predicament in perspective, I’ve marked up the photo for you. The red arrow is where I needed to get. The red person is me. And I look a lot taller (and more athletic) in the drawing than I am in real life:

And here’s the thing. I am not afraid of heights, but I am not big on falling. And I had no idea what was on the other side of the hole. Was it an even steeper drop?

I started to turn around. But then this thought came:

Suffering produces perseverance. 

Seriously. Out of nowhere. I didn’t know about anadiplosis, but I did know that verse and where it went. I knew that if I started at suffering and got through the whole thing (not to mention the hole thing), I’d wind up at hope.

I decided that since I had already experienced some pain (and on a happy note, the very real presence of snakes and mosquitoes took my mind off of the unseen lions and tigers), I could go ahead and move into the perseverance phase. Which felt good, since it meant that I had accomplished something. Or God had, in me. And if he would grant me the courage I needed to climb up to the hole, I was ready to count that as character.

I sent a text to Robbie (which I didn’t think would go through) and a prayer to God (which I was pretty sure would), wanting them both to know where I was, in case things went bad. And then I started climbing.

I made it. (Obviously.) And when I crawled out of the hole on the other side of the rock, I had three rewards.

The first was a nice, flat path:

The second was beautiful waterfall:

And the third was the end of that part of the trail, which literally dumps you out at the foot of the cross:

Talk about hope!

I can’t remember when my heart felt so full, or so grateful. And, I realized, I would not have appreciated the cross (or the hope it delivered) had I not spent that time on the trail. Walking through fear – and coming to the place where my own strength wasn’t enough, where my only two options were to turn back or go forward with a God I couldn’t see instead of a rope that I could – is what brought me to hope.

All of which is to say…

If you are in a season of suffering (even if it’s just a mile’s worth of scary stuff), keep going. Don’t turn back. Just put one foot in front of the other because that’s what kindles perseverance, a “steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose…especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.”

And remember, you’re not alone. Count on God to strengthen your character. He gave me courage; he will supply what you lack. He will lead you to hope.

I wish I had a clever way to use anadiplosis to wrap up this post, but I don’t. All I can do is repeat what Paul said – that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope – and then point to the conclusion Paul draws: And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

I don’t know what the literary term is for that last sentence; if I ever meet Mr. Forsyth, I’ll ask him. For now, though, maybe we can just call it a “happy ending.”

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Friday Prayer for a Crown of Beauty

may-they-be-brought-into-complete-unity-toI love the book of Isaiah. Especially now, at Christmastime, when so many of the prophet’s words point to the hope that Jesus brings. He is the Wonderful Counselor and the Prince of Peace. He’s the one who binds up the brokenhearted and sets the prisoner free. He is the one whose coming is the glad tidings – the good news – our hearts are yearning to hear.

And he’s the God who changes things.

If you long to experience this hope, or if you know somebody who does, here’s a prayer from one of my favorite chapters in Isaiah:

Heavenly Father,

Bestow on _____ a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. (Isaiah 61:3)

Amen.

 

 

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Campus Rape: A Survivor’s Story

Note to readers:  Yesterday’s post featured a review of the book, Hidden Joy in a Dark Corner.  (For a free chapter from the book, click here.)  Today and tomorrow, I’m turning this space over to the book’s author, Wendy Blight.  At a time when sexual violence on college campuses has captured our national attention, Wendy’s story offers understanding, wisdom, and hope.  JB 

 

Wendy.BioPicIt’s the Saturday after my college graduation. I pull up the covers for a few more moments of sleep. Finally, I slide out of bed, throw on some shorts, and run out the door to meet friends for an afternoon by the pool.

My last day with my best girlfriends.  Treasured memories…formals, weekend trips, date nights, spring breaks…so much fun and laughter. How could it be over?

Hours later, I rush back into my apartment, golden brown, smelling like a perfect blend of coconut and the great outdoors. I head upstairs to shower.

As I hit the top step, I see him. A masked man, wielding a large hunting knife. Behind the mask, two cold, piercing blue eyes staring back at mine. Who are you? Why are you here? Surely this can’t be real.

The cold blade on my neck jolts me back to reality. The intruder shoves me into my room. He commits vile acts against me. When he finishes, he leans in close, “I know where you live. If you tell anyone, I will return, and I will kill you.” He walks out the door never to be seen again.

At age 21. Every dream shattered. Every hope dashed. I feel so very alone.

Not a single soul understood the depths of my pain. I locked myself in a prison of fear. At times, living seems too much to bear. No one knew…my loneliness…my helplessness…my hopelessness.

Thankfully, this is not the end of my story. But my journey to get where I am today was long and hard. That day in June 1986, I had no idea where to turn or what to do. I was thousands of miles from home. School was out. There was not an instruction book for what to do after your raped.

Joining the Conversation…

Jodie, thank you for inviting me to be part of the conversation happening nationally about sexual assault on college campuses…both stranger rape and date rape. Sadly, the statistics have not changed since my attack over 25 years ago. One in four women on college campuses are raped. We don’t report our attacks because someone has stepped into our world and cracked our hearts wide open. We have been violated in a most intimate and personal way.

The words don’t come easily: I’ve been raped. 

We believe our attacker’s threats. We fear the administration, the police, our peers will not believe us. We fear the unknown in the investigative and prosecutorial process.

I’m grateful for this conversation. I’m grateful for the proactive stance our government and our universities are beginning to take to protect young women. Victims need a voice. We need an advocate.

Finding Hope…

I also want to be a voice of hope in the midst of this conversation. God makes amazing promises in His Word.

James 1:2-4 says,

“Don’t run from tests and hardships, brothers and sisters. As difficult as they are, you will ultimately find joy in them; if you embrace them, your faith will blossom under pressure and teach you true patience as you endure. And true patience brought on by endurance will equip you to complete the long journey and cross the finish line—mature, complete, and wanting nothing.” (The Voice)

Romans 8:28 says,

“We are confident that God is able to orchestrate everything to work toward something good and beautiful when we love Him and accept His invitation to live according to His plan.” (The Voice)

After my attack in 1987, fear held me captive for nearly 15 years. Anger and bitterness consumed my heart. I held daily pity parties for myself.  Desperation led me to my Bible. It was in the pages of God’s Word that God healed my gaping wounds. He restored my soul. He took my shattered heart and, piece by piece, created something good and beautiful.

We live in a world where bad people will make bad choices that hurt good people. But God promises that the trials and sufferings that enter into our lives, when surrendered to Him, will be redeemed to bring about our good, His glory, and point others to Him!

 

Tomorrow on the blog:  Oprah Radio asked Wendy to share strategies for staying safe, on campus and elsewhere.  Wednesday’s post will feature some of these insights, as well as resources and help for victims.

 

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Friday Prayer Verse for Hope, Joy, and Peace

Romans 15-13

 

Insert your name, or the name of someone you love, into the blanks in today’s prayer verse for hope, joy, and peace:

Heavenly Father, you are the God of hope.  Fill  ______ with all joy and peace as he/she trusts in you, so that _____ may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.  (Romans 15:13)

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