This is was written in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic as a way to process how I was handling the situation as an isolated extrovert.
Day 17 (4.2.20)
I broke the rules this week. I know, I know. I am weak. I caved. BUT…I. Regret. Nothing. I experienced a tree of life and it felt more invigorating and authentic than anything I have done these last 17 days. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Hope. Something that is both desired and despised.
Hope applies to the future but is only impactful in the present. “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” So says Solomon and he was a pretty wise guy so I tend to believe he knew what he was talking about. We all desire hope in the present, the now, and it’s normally because we want the future to change our present. You don’t hope for something you already have. But, once the future is realized, hope is no longer needed. Until you look to the future again. And so, the cycle continues. Hope in the present for the future, future attained, hope lost and regained, lost and regained. And once hope is fulfilled, we have that Garden of Eden experience that Solomon describes.
Okay, so back to my story about breaking the rules. One of my best friends and I have a standing hangout time every other Tuesday. Due to COVID, we were going to move it to FaceTime this week, but then, my dear friend gave me the golden ticket of hope, inviting me to come hang out with her. In person. Did I, an isolated extrovert, want to abandon my forced introversion and be in the same space with a human I loved dearly? Answer: Look outside your window, I am already here. So, I accepted that gift of hope with all of the excitement of a six-year-old on Christmas morning. Suddenly, there was a spark that wasn’t there before. Suddenly, there was an anticipated ending to my present state. And we humans love a good beginning and ending, don’t we? We like to rush the middle, always asking the question, “but how does it end?” Well, I now had an end to my timeline of no human interaction. Tuesday night. And, oh, when it arrived, I experienced every bit of Solomon’s proverb. I had been imagining this moment. Walking through the door, seeing the familiar face of a friend I loved, and experiencing a hug that had to have been the best hug I had experienced, well, for at least 9 days. [Give me a break, okay?! Physical touch love language person here, remember? 9 days may as well be a year! It all blurs together.] It did not disappoint. The only emotion I could show to translate my internal state was tears. [Side note: I also noticed in this moment how long it had been since I cried and how it’s much harder for me to cry when I am alone. I’m sure it’s fine. Everything’s fine.] Hope provides security and stability for the soul. Especially when you have confident assurance of the outcome of that hope. (Hm, kind of sounds like faith, huh?) I had assurance I would see my friend. I was secure in the hope of physical proximity. Gosh, this is the kind of hope we desire.
But what happens when hope is not fulfilled the way we had anticipated? Or when it’s not fulfilled at all? When it’s deferred for a “to be determined” amount of time? Hope is despised. You know the saying: Don’t get your hopes up. We say that to manage expectations and reactions for when reality does not match our hope. We might even abandon hope completely, preferring instead to “live in the moment” and dismiss any talk of future desires. After all, it’s easier to control the present than the future, right? But, hope produces movement and growth. Even if the outcome is not equal to the hopeful intent, chances are we moved towards it a little. That we grew in some way, changed, evolved, or advanced. So, in a way, our future did change. Maybe not the way we wanted it to, but hope did accomplish something.
And let’s go back to that lovely tendency we have to need an ending or relive the beginning, constantly speculating the future or reflecting on the past which was oh, so much better than the present. How do we manage hope AND contentment? Longing AND satisfaction? Hope is vital. It breathes life into situations. But, when it becomes an incessantly futuristic means of escape, it’s a fatal distraction. Contentment allows for beauty to be found in the present, joy in the moment, gratitude in the existing, and story in the middle. Hope and longing must then be a spark that allows for contentment and healthy satisfaction to burn as well. [And, we are back to the recurring theme of balance and duality. The both/and instead of the either/or.]
This is a season of waiting. A season of hope deferred. And yet, whether the future reality looks identical to what we hope for or it’s a completely different canvas, we can hold onto that spark of hope, that it’s okay to hope for what the other side of this might look like, but reminding ourselves not to allow it to become a fire that burns away any contentment we may hold for everything the present has given us. The rhythms developed. The toxic habits broken. Because even if our immediate hope for the other side of COVID isn’t fulfilled or doesn’t look like we anticipated, our eternal hope has an assured outcome. It’s a done deal. A hope we can let burn bright because it won’t lead to disappointment or disdain. It will only lead to perfect fulfillment and that “tree of life” experience. A hope that looks more like confident anticipation than wishful thinking. No fingers crossed. No “don’t get your hopes up.” Only “a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope” (Heb. 6:19).
My Mind Vortex 