Hope

I sit and flex my fingers, stretch my neck, and stare at my computer screen.

It's been a long, long time.

The writing bug abandoned me for a few years except for a few nudges here and there.

Distraction after distraction have kept me away, as the opponent is powerfully clever.

Life has its hard knock, bumps, gut-punches, but I still stand. Not a testimony to my own strength, because I really wouldn't be standing if I relied on that.

When you are derailed, traumatized, beat-up and kicked while you're down, it's tough. It weakens you, tires you, sucks the life right out of you. You become a shell, void of hope.
I remember a previous blog post where I wrote about boxer Muhammad Ali and his plan to "rope-a-dope". A brilliant move, actually, used to wear the enemy down. He leaned against the ropes of the boxing ring, protecting his face, yet taking the punches. Over and over, he took the hits, but only until his opponent became weary and weakened. Then Ali was able to counter-attack, and boom. Match over. 

And this is where I've been for a while now. 

Back against the ropes. Taking the punches. 

But the enemy tires. He attacks and attacks, a constant barrage of cleverly planned moves.

Ah, but it's tiresome.

It's stressful. 

It makes for a life overshadowed by hopelessness.

And here we are.

One coin, two sides ~ the fear of not knowing what's next, worried that it's just going to keep getting worse, countered by the anticipation of what's next, that tiny glimmer of, dare I say, hope. 

Can things get worse? Will they just keep getting worse? Where's the hope in that?

But what if what comes next is a beautiful story? A life-changing next chapter? A fresh new season as a person whose been through fire yet not consumed? 

When you sit in the bottom of the pit for a long time with seemingly no way out, hope for someone throwing down a rope disappears. You get comfortable in the discomfort. Hopeless in merely existing. Sickness comes, loneliness visits, the body knows what the heart feels. 

But there it is. 

Peeking over the edge of the pit, that little bit of hope. 

I was reminded this morning about it. 

That sometimes there is waiting. Waiting for a long, long time even. Waiting in the pit. 

But the waiting doesn't mean hope abandoned.

It doesn't mean rejection.

It doesn't mean pointless.

It just means ... waiting.

And waiting means anticipating. 

Because you don't just wait for nothing. You always wait for something. 

So even when you are waiting for things to improve, there is that tiny thread of hope attached. 
We wait for things to get better. 

And that there is hope. 

Even when we don't feel it. We still wait. 

Hope.

A deep-set knowing, even unacknowledged, that there is always better to come. 

And so I write again, back still against the ropes. 
But as I breathe, my shield up, the enemy tires. He doesn't get to win. 

Hope does.

Because out of suffering comes perseverance, a strengthening from the gut-punches against the ropes. It builds character, growing my ability to stand. Which in turn, produces hope that I will not be defeated by the things that come against me. (Romans 5:3-5)

I'm feeling all Christmasy right now and it's stirring up ponderings about it all. The arrival of that babe in a manger and all that. The profundity of what that means. And the ultimate Rope-a-Dope scenario. Jesus over the enemy. Life over death. Love over hate. Purpose over pointlessness. 

Jesus the Victor, Saviour, God Almighty, Heavenly Hope. 

And all the people say, Hallelujah, Hope has come!