Hope

One of my cousins is currently working in Maputo, Mozambique. I try to check her blog once in awhile, and the other day as I was skimming through the blog I ran across an interesting topic: hope.

I was particularly drawn to this because at one of our staff meetings at the S-LC this semester the idea of hope was brought to light. In that instance we were all a little shaken by the fact that there are just some things in this world that we don’t have control over and can do very little to change. As much as we want so badly to bring hope, life, and success to others sometimes there is nothing more we can do. With the more recent events involving Libya and Japan, I think this idea of lost hope hits home even more now than when our original conversation took place.

After reading this aforementioned blog from my cousin’s experience in Mozambique, I think I have a slightly better grasp on this difficult topic of hope and Christian longing for change in our suffering world. My cousin’s words are hard to summarize because she says them so well, so I’ll let you read a portion of these powerful words for yourself.

Upon reflection of the many cases of children struggling with HIV and the constant state of death surrounding this African community, my cousin wrote these words:

“But this death doesn’t mean that people stop living. In fact, it’s quite the opposite in these parts. I have found more community, more love, more beauty and more friendships here than in any other part of the country I’ve visited. One night, a few weeks ago, I was dwelling on this agape kind of love I was feeling God draping over us while sitting outside admiring the stars, conversations and food of the evening."

Yet, talking to a co-worker, Ruth, brought a different sense. Ruth gives medicine and check-ups at a local orphanage of HIV+ children. Ruth began to break down as she explained the story of one girl with stage four AIDS who still had not received treatment. When Ruth called the local government to demand distribution of the free medication to the orphanage, the officials on the other end of the line lackadaisically said they would be there by the end of the month. She knows these kids don’t have that long.

So there we sat. The joy, the tears, the heartbrokenness and the love all hovered there in the air around us, mixing together and getting hazy. But the weirdest thing was that it was totally okay. Pain held hands with beauty, and joy pulled up a chair next to sorrow. And there we all dwelled. I didn’t feel guilty for the laughter we had a few moments before her story, and the breaking of Ruth’s heart in no way diminished the love it still contained. I still knew that I was exactly where I should be, and despite all of the death around me, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. Around this same time, a dear friend from home shared with me a quote from a pastor of the church we used to attend:

‘Ultimately our gift to the world around us is hope. Not blind hope that pretends everything is fine and refuses to acknowledge how things are. But the kind of hope that comes from staring pain and suffering right in the eyes and refusing to believe that this is all there is. It is what we need—hope that comes not from going around suffering but from going through it...It is in the flow of real life, in the places we live and move with the people we're on the journey with, that we are reminded it is God’s world and we’re going to be okay.’

This is what hope means. Sure, babies still cry, funerals still occur and the water still inexplicably goes out in the middle of a dinner party. BUT the sun still rises every morning and joy is still available in the presence of utter destruction. And I think God stands in the messy middle between suffering and bliss and says ‘It’s alright. I got this.’ “

Wow. Powerful stuff, right? Every time I read this I have to sit back for a second because still don’t know exactly how to respond to such a deep thought other than to feel completely awed and amazed that we serve a God that holds this broken, struggling, damaged, hurt world in the palms of his comforting hands and offers not only hope, but love in abundance as he takes all our pain – every single ounce of it no matter how small or how insurmountably painful – and says He’s got it under control. I have realized that I must everyday dwell in this reassurance.

Peace and Blessings,
-Emily