Hope that Defies Sanity

It’s been raining again. But it’s not a little “drip, drip, drop, little April showers” that happens in Bambi. It’s a cold and fussy, snot-like moisture that finds the crevices in rooves and basement corners and creeps in. It’s the nasty drivel that spits and leaves a brown stain on the ceiling where things were once crisp and white. It’s a “Where the mop?” kind of moment.

I’ve been working on a building a retaining wall. A few weeks ago I started to build the steps. I had the foundation all laid before I realized I didn’t know what I was doing. So there are piles of dirt and limestone gravel waiting to be moved and I haven’t the brain power to finish the puzzle. I’ve been watching Youtube videos and looking at pictures but I haven’t the confidence to do what they do. So when the rain started washing away my dirt, I just sighed. What I really need is for an expert to come in and just finish it for me, but I can’t afford that. So I decided maybe I don’t need stairs. I’ll just build up the wall and fill it in with dirt and finish it off with creeping flowers to cover my ineptitude.

But there’s a level of disappointment I can’t articulate in that approach. I really want to “finish well.” I’ve spent a few years building this thing now and it seems like giving up is well, really lame. But I’m in the messy middle of the project and I can’t see my way out of it so matter which angle I stare from. And believe me, I’ve analyzed them all.

A friend of mine is going through a pretty tough time with one of her children. She’s tried any number of therapies and none of them are working. His behavior is off the charts bad. He’s rebellious, hot-tempered, and defiant. He’s also wickedly compulsive. This past year he’s been out of school more than he’s been in and she’s out-of-her mind worried about him. She’s reached a stage of hopelessness unbeknownst to people who never had a child with behavioral disorders.

“Some hearts are built on a floodplain.” – Sara Groves

The other day she felt the waves of despair lapping at the edge of her feet. So she chucked all her plans for the day and fled to the river to pray. She grabbed her bible and a cup of coffee and followed the two-lane road until it ended at the Marina. There she sat–reading Hebrews and weeping.

Hebrews 11 describes the faith of people who lived long ago; Noah, Abraham, and Moses. The narrator tells us of the many wonderful things God did for them; saving one from a flood, giving one back the life of his son, delivering the last (and all the Israelites) from certain death near the Red Sea. But then he says something curious:

“These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.” Hebrews 11:13

So what exactly were they promised that they didn’t receive?

“For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.” Hebrews 11:14-16

My friend called me from the edge of hope and asked me to walk her back. She was staring at homes on stilts–built right up next to the banks of the mighty Mississippi. There was even a little community playground with a swing set and a slide. No one was playing on them in the rain, of course, but there they were–just waiting for the river to rise and wash them all away.

My friend said, “How do people live like that? Right there on the edge of insanity?”

“I don’t know.” I said.

“I see a deck built 20 feet off the ground and on top of it are 3 gazebos. Why would somebody build like that? I mean, I’m looking at a pavilion and a bevy of boats at their docks and all I can think about are floods and tornados. It’s not safe.”

“Safety is an illusion,” I said. “None of us are safe. I suppose some people prefer to live by the water. I bet it’s beautiful when the weather is nice.”

“I guess.” She said.

We were silent for a few minutes and I said, “You are going to get through this. It’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know that?” I could hear the urgency in her voice, and the disbelief.

I told her the truth. I said, “because God has promised. Hebrews 10:23 says, Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.”

My friend cried for a while and then dried her eyes and went home. And I believe she will be okay. She trusts the Lord–even when life is messy and painful.

As for me, it finally stopped raining. I’m sitting here staring out at the mud and the unfinished wall, and the silly, greedy squirrels who are waiting for me to put out more walnuts. Because of the rain, the birdbath is full and the sparrows are taking turns splashing around. They seem so joyful and optimistic. And since their happiness is contagious, I decide to go outside and enjoy the sunshine with them.

I’ll finish my wall eventually–stairs or no stairs. And my friend will get through this difficult time in her journey. Because the thing is, earth is not our home. We are looking forward to a heavenly home whose foundation is built by God. And that is nothing if not grounds for filling the heart with gladness.

“The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost.” 1 Timothy 1:15