What’s in Hope
When our church prayed over Titus, I asked that we pray that he’d grow to be a man of hope. And lately, as Seth and I are chiseling our way out of a great deal of exposed jadedness, we ask that you pray for us, for HOPE.
And then, too, Ann writes it: HOPE.
How yesterday was so wrong, my temper lost, nothing in place – but then a friend came to play his music and I heard it – the HOPE of belonging, the church in her low-down beauty.
He sang something like, “There is nothing I can do to get lost.”
So I look around at so much seeming lost, yet claimed by God – the time, my boys’ attitudes, friends’ marriages, and I’ve decided that HOPE isn’t HOPE if it is for something already there. Like faith, Hope is for what hasn’t yet been revealed.
Titus’ dark eyes connect, secure. He’s 14 weeks old, rested on me. I enjoy my baby like all the hope in the world wrapped in my lap. The cold is coming, but tonight the sky will be pink. The branches bear the grey, but the stove will warm us. My four boys will turn men through discipline. They will trust us. They will build lives, and things will fall apart. Pain yet Peace, I’m learning – hope in that, too, especially that.
For now, one wipes my kisses off his face, doesn’t need them anymore. But he tells me out of the blue, “Mama, I love you.”
Four times this week out of different mouths, I heard: “I can’t wait to get there. I can’t wait to finally be home.”
There’s always a missing, a longing, in HOPE. I look in this baby’s eyes, gorgeous Titus.
Right here, fresh as can be, I miss him already.