The synopsis of my muddled brain which follows requires (at
least) two back stories...
Back Story 1: If you know me personally, or interact with me
on a relatively normal basis, you are probably already aware: I have this thing
for sunglasses. It stems, at least in
partial, from necessity rooted in especially sensitive eyes (my doc told me
back in the day radiation would intensify this and it’s a legit warning on the
label of my life-preserving medication).
I rarely go anywhere without a pair of sunglasses. Even if it doesn’t seem necessary. There is nothing worse than suddenly needing
sunglasses and not having any. Also I
have a few issues (friends and family call it my “OCD” but really I just like
things to match...and be in alphabetical order...and to keep track of percentages
as I read or complete a project...and a couple other small things...) and I
really like when my sunglasses (like my socks and underwear) match my
outfit. Which has resulted in me
purchasing multiple pairs of sunglasses that I might have some for every
occasion. I have A LOT of
sunglasses. I was working at the
elementary school for less than two hours when my first student noticed (I work
on the playground, mostly) my “shades”.
And, as the weeks progressed, my students would begin to watch and look
for my various pairs...and then note how they matched...and how I ALWAYS had
them with me...
Back Story 2: (Connected to the Prior) I have a “Lunch Box”
which I keep with me at work. It is an
old Whitman’s Chocolate Sampler box which contains “musical chairs”, Story
Cubes, Mad Gab, Silly Putty, Would You Rather?... Once my kiddos sit down with their
lunches I find a table group with whom I haven’t sat in a while and we play
games until lunch recess. I/it gets
fought over with every grade at every lunch.
I love the way it fosters their imagination and lets me into their
worlds in subtle ways. They are obsessed
with “Would You Rather” (Story Cubes a close second). One of the questions (a frequent reoccurrence)
is “Would You Rather...have a bestselling book or top-chart song written about
you?” I typically follow their answers with “what would the title be?” and
receive many eclectic responses. A
fourth grader asked me what my title would be and another instantly responded
with “It should be something about her sunglasses!” A pair were propped
characteristically on the top of my head – despite the fact the day was cloudy
at best.
The title of the best-selling book (obviously it was book!
Psh!) written about my life?
“Sunglasses on a Cloudy Day”
Though probably a mid October declaration, it has been a favorite
thing to ponder. (The title not the
hypothetical book). I smirk when that
question comes back into rotation. I sometimes find myself reflective as I go to pick out the most suitable pair for the
day.
Sunglasses on a Cloudy Day
This is not a title that would refer to my chronic over-preparedness.
It goes deeper than that. The longer
I’ve sat with this make-believe title, the less whimsical it appears and the
more defining it becomes...of me and my life as whole.
Wearing sunglasses even if the sun isn’t shining yet is not
about “thinking ahead”; it is not the result of mere folly; it isn’t even
definitely connected to my innate fear of being caught with burning
retinas. It’s about the “yet”. The sun isn’t shining...yet.
Wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day is about
expectation. It’s about hope...
I have a love/hate relationship with the word “hope”. It, (with the word “joy”), has been one of my
“words” for several years. Definitively...eight (although perceivably longer). It is a love/hate relationship because I love
what it means, what it stands for, what it refers to in my life...but it was a
word thrust upon me more than it was a word I chose. A word rich with meaning, especially in my
life, and so I love it. But a word so
rich I struggle to live into it and so I hate it because it demands so much of
me.
Yet in seasons of my life such as this, it’s a word close to
my heart, nearly always on my mind. This is an apt time for me to
consider. My brain and heart are oft
busy this time of year regardless of the rest of life.
It’s December 29. I
am somewhere directly in-between my eight year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis (12.26)
and my eight year anniversary of receiving my smile-shaped necklace scar (1.3). I’ve officially been clear as long as I was
diagnosed and yet my wheels spin and my memory blasts quickly and sharply and
raw. It often does about this time of
year. It’s strange to have to process
something which turned my life upside down and inside out and spit me out with
pieces of my world screaming “where is your God?”
It was the beginning of my journey with hope. It didn’t happen all at once. It wasn’t something I could see or understand
from the beginning. But it was the gift
I was given. I was given the picture of
a “glimpse”...when it is stormy and the sky is gray and clouds completely cover
the skyline and there is just gray, forever gray. But then the clouds break, just a little,
just a moment...in that break the sun pours through and floods a piece of the
sky, though small, with light. And there
is the reminder that all along the sun has existed just beyond the clouds.
Hope is realizing and putting faith and trust beyond the
temporary and holding out for the transformational. It is Abraham’s hope,
acting on the promise that God is going to show up. Collins, a Christian counselor wrote that hope is “more than
the wish that God will perform a miracle. It is the confidence that God, who is
living and sovereign, also controls all things and can be expected to bring to
pass that which ultimately is best...” Hope
arises out of the belief that God sustains; God restores.
In the world's worst research paper (it was a “good” paper
but totally removed from my heart on the matter in order to please a finicky
professor) I had to detail how hope was integrated into the counseling office. In
the midst of my research I poured through passages of scripture dealing with
hope. I was struck anew by the fact hope
rarely stands alone and is seldom admonished or pursued separate of suffering
and the faithfulness of God...
The writer of Lamentations bemoans his predicament and is
burdened with bitterness and affliction but transitions to an attitude of hope
stating “Yet this I call to mind, and
therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not
consumed, His compassion never fails...” (Lamentations 3:19-26, emphasis added). God’s
faithfulness is the “therefore”.
On the other side of the resurrection there is an additional
understanding of the promise given to Christians of God’s power, presence, and
authority. Peter refers to it as “living
hope” – implying it is not stagnant but active and growing – which is made
possible through the resurrection of Jesus and fulfilled in an inheritance
resulting from suffering of many trials (1 Peter 1:3-9).
Paul expresses it even further stating not just the
inheritance but the suffering itself should be rejoiced in; not for the
suffering in and of itself but for what it accomplishes: “Not only so but we
also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces
perseverance; perseverance, character; and character hope. And hope does not disappoint, because God’s
love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been
given to us.” (Romans 5:3-5).
Trials, suffering, and crises give way to hope when properly
considered and, unlike the crisis itself, it will not disappoint. Suffering
births hope.
So...why this? Why now? What now?
Here I am on December 29.
Part way between Christmas and the start of a New Year. Two calendar days which sandwich the depth of
“hope”. The New Year always has this way
of encompassing the idea of anticipation and expectation and looking forward to
not what has been but what will be. And
Christmas, Christmas is the reality of hope fulfilled. The ultimate display of what it means for God
to “show up”; what it means for God to fulfill His promises; what it means for
God’s faithfulness to break into the lives of a hurting world; what it means to
continue to give reason, to be the “therefore” of hope.
So I find myself looking forward, which is forcing me to
look back. I am considering what 2016
will hold, where I am and what I’m doing and what God possibly is thinking with
the life He has me living. I struggle to
see His plan, His purpose, and sometimes...His presence.
This time of year can be hard to process. Hard to recall. It’s life. It happens...because it happened. But it also can be a refreshing and joy
filled reminder. “This I call to mind and therefore I hope...” God has been SO faithful in my life in so
many places, so many ways – ways far greater and thicker and richer than the
questions and doubts I find myself with.
