The Certainty of Hope

For the past several weeks, I have been carefully evaluating all of the areas around my house where I planted hostas last year, waiting to see if the hardy perennials made it through the winter. Most of them weren't looking all that good by the end of their first growing season last fall, but I was hoping the root structure was more vibrant than the leaves appeared to be.

In the last few days, each time I go outside, I have been pleasantly surprised to see the new leaves of another plant poking through the mulch and stretching out toward the sun. Today, I found the last one. They all made it!

I've been thinking about these scrappy little plants a lot lately as I consider what it means to have hope. Last year, I did all I could to give these plants a good shot at a long life -- I chose the right location that receives the right amount of light. I fertilized the soil and kept them watered and weeded. But once the winter came, the whole process was totally out of my control. All I could do was hope that I had done enough.

In many ways, my hope to be healed from cancer has felt like the same sort of process. I have done everything possible to get rid of the disease: from choosing a good doctor to enduring chemotherapy to eating right and exercising. Now, I just have to wait and see what happens. Seeing hope in this way, however, has left me feeling a little hopeless. If my healing is ultimately up to me, will I be able to do all that I need to? And what happens when the next trial comes, the one that will make having cancer seem small? Where is my hope then?

Thankfully, the Bible speaks of hope much differently. Hope is not doing everything we can and waiting to see what happens. In God's economy, hope is much more certain than this.

For one thing, hope is a gift from God, not something we muster up in ourselves. Psalm 62:5 says, "Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him." Hope also is developed in our lives through the difficulties we encounter. Romans 5:3-5 says, "Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. 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."

But mostly, the kind of hope that Jesus gives us and massages into our souls through trials is a hope of certainty. Paul says in Colossians 1 that our hope is stored up in heaven and is the result of faith in Christ. Peter says in 1 Peter 1:3-5 that our hope is living and will not fade or spoil. And the writer of Hebrews exhorts us to "hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful" (Hebrews 10:23). Ultimately our hope is a sure thing because God is a sure thing.

This is the kind of hope I need in the uncertainty of life.

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I will be getting my next round of blood work next week. In the meantime, my hair is starting to grow back ,and I am getting stronger and more energetic!

L'Chaim -- To Life!

I've been trying to put together this post for the past week, sitting down to write here and there. And for various reasons, it just hasn't come together. Today, I am determined to post.

What I've been trying to put together in words is the great tension I have been feeling between the elation of life and the dread of death. I've felt wimpy and puny and very un-Christian for the fear I've been feeling. If heaven is as certain as I claim, then what is there to panic about death? Yet now that it is Spring, the world is so full of life, and my body feels healthy and is getting stronger. Everything in me is crying out to live. Here and now.

I know that somewhere in between this pendulum swing of emotions is the peace that Jesus offers. He wants me to embrace life on earth, to enjoy the gifts that He's given, to participate fully in relationships and circumstances. But he doesn't want me to cling too tightly to life here on earth because it is only a shadow of what's to come. More life!

Some days, with death peering over my shoulder, it's hard to remember that the desire for life, both this one and the one to come, is from God. But slowly I am finding my way down the narrow path that embraces both lives, and the death that separates them, trusting that Jesus goes with me always.

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By the way, my last blood test about a week and a half ago came back completely normal -- no sign of cancer at this point. For this, I am thankful.

Picking up Sticks

The calendar says it's Spring these days, even though the weather apparently hasn't heard the news. And though I had to put a coat on to do so, I finally made it outside to start picking up sticks in my yard.

As a child, picking up sticks was one of my least favorite chores. I am sure there were times when my parents jsut let me stay inside and read rather than fight the fight over a few twigs and branches. Now, I consider the task one of the rites of Spring.

In these early days of Spring when it's too early to do much gardening on my little suburban plot and the lawn is more brown than green and definitely not ready to mow, bending over to pick up winter's mess is the first step for getting back into shape. Most of the other outdoor chores will require more energy and greater muscle tone than my flabby, winter body can handle currently. But all the stooping, reaching, grabbing and stacking is just the ticket for easing my way to Spring sveltness.

One of my other favorite parts of picking up sticks in the Spring is finding all of the refuse the earth no longer wants. Through the winter of freezing and thawing, all kinds of foreign objects are shifted and shaken up to the surface. Bits of trash and treasure left by previous owners, absorbed deep into the soil, are now spit out again.

Last year, I painstakenly picked up various pieces of glass and bottle tops, pen caps and candy wrappers, thinking that by the end of Spring, I had removed all evidence of previous human habitation on my plot. Suprisingly, as I make my way around this same little yard again this Spring, I am finding more evidence that I am not the only person who has been here. Along the edge of a small flower bed, I saw a spoon poking out its head. It's definitely not part of my set of flatware. I have found bottle caps off of beers I have not drunk, tags from flowers I never planted, and pieces of broken glass from windows I didn't shatter.

That's what winter does for the earth. Not only prunes the branches that are overgrown, but also gets rid of the clutter others have left behind. The same thing happens in my life during the dark, wintery seasons.

These past few months have often left my soul feeling bitterly cold, with seemingly little life and growth. But I am seeing Spring come around, and the work of picking up all the refuse has begun: my own branches of fear, discouragement, and hopelessness that have kept my faith from growing and the bits of betrayal, dishonesty, and carelessness that others have left strewn in my life this past year.

I'm not collecting all of this garbage as a prize to be fawned over and made much of. Rather, I am bundling these hurts and sins so they can be dumped on the curb for trash day. And Jesus, who makes much of me when I go through the discipline of this cleanup, will come and take it all away.