Two college commencement ceremonies on back-to-back weekends in May launched me into a new phase of motherhood. The twin boys that I birthed are now men. As they move out and step into their adult lives, the mighty hope that beams from their handsome smiles has drawn my attention to that crucial virtue that often feels beyond my reach. 

St. Paul writes that hope is a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul (Heb 6:19). In my younger years, I would have cheered at those words. But today I sigh, swallow hard, and pray that the truth about hope makes its way into the parts of my heart which have grown calloused with disappointment. As a young mama I craved a few more hours of sleep, being able to run an errand by myself, or greater patience, but now I crave unshakable hope.

I have come to understand that having faith is not the same as having hope. Think of running behind a wobbly two-wheeler, gripping the back of the bicycle seat to steady a swaying child who is attempting to ride without training wheels. In this example, I equate faith with believing the child is capable and ready to balance and pedal at the same time and with knowing the bicycle can stay upright and move forward as it’s designed to do. Life experience tells us that we should trust the bike and that the kid will eventually ride on their own. Hope is what is needed, however, before we will loosen our grip on the back of the seat and let go. Hope is the confident expectation that this child will take off, relishing the rush of victory and velocity, even though there is no guarantee that letting go will not result in tears and bloody knees instead. 

In Heb11:1, St. Paul describes faith as assurance and conviction, but hope is not as concrete. Hope is the expectation of the fulfillment of God’s promises. Hope is for the not-yet, for the unknown, for the no-guarantees. Though I stand firm with the solid conviction that God is true, good, and faithful, still, without hope, I teeter with fear and trepidation of the future.  

This summer, I am diving deep into the mystery of hope because I need it. I want the real and lasting hope that is tethered to eternity, not the glossy optimism that everything is going to be OK. In the Christian life, trials and sufferings are inevitable, and even though our faith is not extinguished, our hope can sometimes be snuffed out. If I am tossed about in a dark storm, where bad decisions, broken relationships, chronic illness, loss, or addictions have crashed into my lifeboat, I desperately need the gift of hope to keep me from drowning. So, how can I anchor myself in the living hope that comes from God?  

First of all, hope waits expectantly for the fulfillment of God’s promises. So, I know that when I fix my gaze on the Father, hope is there. I acknowledge that his promises are true and trustworthy and that I must let go. I surrender. I stop grasping for earthly success, cures, or favor, and I hold on to him. True hope for myself and those I love (whom he loves even more perfectly than I ever will) is fulfilled in eternal union with him. 

I praise him in the storm, knowing that despite free will, human weakness, and the snares of the enemy, he has a rescue plan. He is the reason for our hope. He is the light in the darkness. He is the Father who keeps his promises. He is sure and steadfast, even when I am not.