Hope

It’s kind of disheartening when years after you assume you’ve buried that weakness and moved on, its head surfaces, bobbing like a headstone in a flooded cemetery, taunting, reminding you of your former version of yourself.  As discouraging as its presence is, I accept its company.  Because it’s humbling to remember I’m never enough on my own.  I may have all but squelched the desire to succumb, to give in to jealousies of my youth, but when I get complacent or start to believe I’ve conquered it, I shouldn’t be surprised to come face to face with my past demon.

I felt it coming to life this week in a weak moment or two, wondering where I went wrong and where so many others have gone right.  I couldn’t help but compare, a past-time of so long ago.  But I gave in for just a minute, before I’d even asked myself permission.  I almost couldn’t help myself.  Old habits.  You know what they say.

My heart’s ached this week.  And in my quiet dark moments of self-reflection, I couldn’t help but see images of the fabulous women and moms surrounding me, so many within my own circle of friends.  I looked at the way they’ve raised their kids, the way they’ve mothered.  I wondered how we were different.  How I could’ve done things differently.  And I felt weak.  Uncharacteristically critical of  myself, I’ve been looking back at every point where I might have gone wrong.

But by now I have enough experience to know that life just happens.  Even when we’re trying to do our best.  We all have upsets, a few steps back here and there.  Even when circumstances should dictate otherwise.  And I accept that.  I actually embrace it.  Because it means we’re using our agency.  We’re making mistakes and learning.

I attended a meeting the other night.  A little different from my normal meetings.  An intimate and sweet group.  An unlikely gathering of souls, sisters and brothers, each with our own silent heartaches.  But the spirit touched my heart and raised me from my stoop.  For most of the week I’d let my realist side drive while the faithful side took a ride in the passenger seat.  Who are we kidding.  She was in the trunk.  But here among strangers the spirit found me.  And comforted me.  Providing me hope that I’d dared not hope for.

Because I felt confirmation that regardless of the darkness or length of the tunnel, it is still, by definition, a passageway.  Not a destination.  Even though the light is dim and barely perceptible, a mere pinpoint in the distance, I’m remembering how the end opens wide.  As bright as the beginning.

And so even as I’ve felt such crushing pain, exacerbated by succumbing to my old enemy jealousy, I’m feeling the balm soothe my tired soul.  I feel the atonement at work on my heart in soft and simple ways.  I feel peace amid turmoil.  Unexpectedly calm even though we’re nowhere near the end.  I have faith that wrongs can be erased.  That mistakes can be catalysts in the experiment of life that transform a person.  Because knowledge and experience and repaired misdeeds are like steel fibers in a life, invisible but powerful reminders of Christ’s infinite love.  Love so tender that even the most fragile heart can be cradled in His care.