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Hello friends!
Delighted you stopped by!
We’re knee-deep in the holidays at our house and I thought it only fitting to kick things off today with some good old-fashioned hope.
Sit back, relax, and unwind for a while. No need to doll up or wear your Sunday best. You’re welcome here—PJs, curlers, baggage, and all!
Today’s post is for anyone who needs a pick-me-up, a pat on the back, or a cyber hug across the miles.
It’s for the broken, the hurting, and the one who needs a smile.
It’s for the underdog, the survivor, and the square peg trying to fit into a round hole.
This post is for writers, caregivers, and you.
If you need encouraged, please keep reading.
As I thought about what to share today, the word hope continued to resonate. After all, this is the season for hope.
But let’s talk about the unmentionable. The uncomfortable. Just for a moment.
For those struggling in the valley of heartache, maybe life doesn’t seem so hopeful just now.
Maybe it seems downright crummy.
If you’ve never experienced a season like this—a season in the valley—consider yourself blessed.
Seasons in the valley are no picnic.
They suffocate.
They rob.
They poke, prod, and hinder your joy.
If you’re there, dear one, please know I empathize. Please know, despite thoughts to the contrary, you are not alone.
If you’ve followed my journey very long, you’re familiar with my story. If not, here’s some background you should read in order:
Years ago as a caregiver/writer/mom there were days I wanted to throw in the towel.
Days I yearned for… normalcy and sunshine and butterflies.
Days beyond hospitals, hopelessness, and well-meaning platitudes.
Days marked by encouragement and circled in love.
I vowed if I ever made it through that season, I’d never ever be silent about the realities of truth.
The truth is it stunk.
Watching our child linger at death’s door for a season and then the aftermath that followed was indescribable. Those were hard, lean years. Because our family lived that season for so long, in some ways it’s still difficult to talk about.
To sum things up—it was catastrophic.
Life as our family knew it forever changed in 2003.
Many folks knew about our ordeal, but few understood the realities of our day-to-day life. (Again, the posts above reference some of this.)
If you’ve experienced something similar, you know just what I’m talking about. And you know, too, there are times when there are just no words and not enough energy to rehash it.
A decade ago, I wondered if I’d ever write another word again.
Aside from scribbling thoughts on hospital dinner napkins and small legal pads, I didn’t know if my publishing dream would ever come to pass. I still considered myself a writer, but I’d added a new tag to my job description. Caregiver.
And as mom to our chronically ill child, he was my primary focus. Everything else took a back seat because nothing else mattered. My child was my heart. Writing, naturally, wasn’t a priority.
Day in, day out I focused on what needed done. Did it. And started over the next day. And the next one after that.
Even on the worst days, though, when hopelessness threatened I still clung to hope.
Because I’m a Christian, I took God at His word—sometimes repeating scripture in rote-like fashion. I didn’t know how things would turn out, but I did believe there was something more. Some little glimmer of light at the end of the vast, scary tunnel.
And a side note here—being a Christian doesn’t mean I’m perfect or that I have it all figured out. Far from it. But that’s the great thing—that’s exactly why I’m a believer. I trust the One who does have it all together. No need to wear a façade or put on pretenses, so I don’t. And you shouldn’t either. (If you’d like to have a personal relationship with Jesus here’s how.)
I’m just an ordinary gal—a wife, a mom, and a writer who experienced some bad alongside the good.
Fast-forward to a new day. A new normal.
A lot of time has passed.
I’ve trudged a lot of miles since then and I’ve worn many hats.
A few years ago, I started writing again. I’m still on the journey. I won’t fib—I’ve never worked harder. But it has made me a better writer.
Today our son is an educator to bright, young minds. He has some battle scars to remember where he’s been and to appreciate where he’s going.
Life rattles on. Sometimes at an even keel, other times full of surprises.
I’ve hung in there. You will, too!
Consider…
- Your season is your season. Don’t let others define it for you. But DO accept their support.
- You’re a beautiful human being. Some days you may not believe it, but the devil lies.
- You have what it takes. You don’t have to measure up. Jesus took care of that for you.
- You matter. Someone, somewhere needs what you have. Please share.
- You’re resilient. You’ve faced the fire and refused to burn. You’ll do it again.
- You have courage. You may be scared, but you’re moving forward. One baby step at a time.
- You are loved. Don’t believe anything otherwise. (Or I may just have to come wrangle you!)
My hope for you this holiday is that you’ll know the peace that passes all understanding and that you’ll accept my virtual arms around you in the biggest bear hug ever!
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PLEASE SHARE WITH SOMEONE WHO NEEDS HOPE
Having a difficult season? Here’s some hope for your wintry heart!
Christmas is the season for hope. Encouragement here.
What’s your hope for the holidays?
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Blessings Always,
Comments 2
What a lovely essay of hope, Cindy!
I hope that it is printed by many, and posted on refrigerator doors, office walls, and workspace partitions.
My hope is for those who have no place to go, no safe place to rest – to finally find compassion in their community, security in their nation, and peace in the arms of a Body of Christ that finally realizes the need to collectively act like that which they profess.
Author
Andrew, thanks so much for your kindness! Your thoughts are beautiful, my friend.
You bless me.