It was in 1991 that I stood before Pastor Greg Carson and vowed forever to the woman of my dreams. Years have intervened and taught me that forever often has an expiration date. I have invested too much time and emotion in studying the forensics of my failures. I’ve taken my pain and magnified it while simultaneously minimizing the pain I caused others. This may demonstrate selfishness, but might truthfully demonstrate cluelessness. My means of coping with pain was to assign blame, while striving to assume the role of martyr and victim. I was an ass.
Time has passed. Apologies that I believe I am owed I forego and forgive whatever trespasses they may encompass. Even as I revel in God’s forgiveness and grace, I accept that I can do no more, nor less, lest I slip once more into the indulgence of a martyr role. I’ve apologized to those who would listen and accepted the distance from those who would not. I’ve learned that speaking truth serves no purpose if it only delivers hurt without the potential of either illumination or reconciliation.
There is an antique safe in the basement. It was locked when I bought it with the combination long forgotten. The seller stated that he had never seen it open, but believed it to be empty. I should like to get it open so as to make use of it, but I’m inhibited from doing so, because as long as any contents remain inaccessible it feeds the hope that it might contain wonders. It is effectively a perpetual lottery ticket that, although statistically likely to be a loser, may be a winner! I find myself similarly minded when looking at my present situation. I hope for an unlikely outcome, while not taking the steps or asking the questions that would yield a definite result. I initially thought it cowardice that inhibited me, but I realize it is because I am addicted to hope. Hope holds promise and possibility, while if pushed to its conclusion would yield either disappointment (likely) or fruition (unlikely).
As a hope junkie, I realize how it forms the foundations of my faith and how little separates them. Unless you’re certain of a negative outcome, you cannot have faith without hope. A certain hope and a certain faith are virtually the same. The Holy Spirit continually strengthens my faith while giving me a certain hope for the promises of the Bible. I’ve shared some of my hopes with friends and have been encouraged to seek counseling to deal with and dispel my fixations and hope, but I realize that losing my hopes, however irrational they might be, would leave me bereft of an often defining purpose. I share the gospel because I have a certain hope and faith in the promises of the Bible. Other hopes I have will remain and perhaps ebb or grow. When I sit down for dinner at a friend’s home I may harbor a hope for dessert, though I would never give it voice. Such are my hopes. I may shape them into prayer, though God has always known the desires of my heart, and I trust that he will fulfill those that are within His will, and guide me away from those that are not.
But enough hoping for the moment. I suddenly have a craving for dessert.
