They lie to you about hope. They whisper in your ear that if you don’t get your hopes up, it won’t hurt if that longed-for thing doesn’t come to pass. Keep your expectations low, they say, so the fall won’t be so steep. Don’t get too attached. Muffle your dreams under layers of bubble wrap. This is the only way to venture into the future and come out unscathed.
But according to a reliable source, hope is one of only three things that remain in the end, after everything else falls away. If I’m understanding that right, it means that hope lives on into eternity, even after the thing we’re hoping for has passed away. If that’s the case, maybe I shouldn’t be too quick to brush it off.
***
“It looks like you’re miscarrying,” the doctor told me, not unkindly. It was the height of the pandemic, and we were both wearing masks. I regretted putting on mascara, but it felt like a special occasion, seeing as it was the first time I’d left the house in approximately six weeks. The doctor awkwardly handed me a tissue, trying not to make contact.
“Come back in two weeks for another ultrasound to confirm.”
Back in the car, I regretted (even more than the mascara) the fact that Daniel couldn’t be there with me. We’d initially wanted him there so he could see the baby’s tiny profile on the screen and watch the pulsing heartbeat. But now I wished he could drive me home, because they haven’t yet invented windshield wipers for the human eye.
***
I didn’t enter this corridor of hope blithely. I’ve had my share of ultrasounds that resulted in smudged mascara: one with dire conjectures about our baby’s future and one that resulted in the dreaded silence of a no-longer-beating heart.
In those two agonizing weeks between ultrasounds, I wondered how to pray, how to put one foot in front of the other, how to breathe. I wasn’t sure it was possible to hope, and if so, whether it was wise. If I cracked open the door to hope, wouldn’t it just be an invitation for my heart to get steamrolled in two weeks?
I whispered these fears to Daniel after Graham was safely tucked in bed. I know he was just as scared as I was, but he offered words of bedrock wisdom, words I clung to every day of those two eternal weeks: “We will choose hope until God gives us a reason not to.”
***
Hope, I believe, is never wasted. Every time we hope, even if the hope is just a tiny quivering thing, we are building our hope muscle. Even if the thing we’re hoping for doesn’t become reality, the very act of hoping changes something at the core of who we are.
And if the foundation of our hope is ultimately in Someone rather than something, we will never be disappointed. Whether we get the thing we’re hoping for or not.
Faith is both the dreaming and the crying. Faith is the assurance that the best and holiest dream is true after all.
Frederick Buechner
***
At my appointment two weeks later, I walked into the same ultrasound room, with the same mask on, and was greeted by the same technician. I could hardly bear to look at the screen, knowing in a matter of moments it would announce either life or death, hope or grief. I didn’t want to know, and I had to know.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. My eyes flew open at the unmistakable sound of a tiny heart pumping at 160 beats per minute. “Is that what I think it is?” I whispered.
Sure enough, flickering on the screen was hope incarnate, hope pulsing inside my own body. I hadn’t worn mascara because I anticipated tears that day. I just hadn’t guessed that they would be tears of joy, tears of a hope fulfilled.
Now, by some undeserved miracle, Daniel, Graham, and I are waiting for our new arrival, due at the end of year. And the nickname we’ve given this little one?
Baby Hope.
I know that hope is the hardest love we carry.
Jane Hirschfield
LOVE! And so happy for the four of you
Thank you, sweet Merry!
I pray for all of you that, when the time is right, you will be holding Hope, in her most perfect ( and crying, slippery) form in your arms. Bless you and Daniel for your strength, faith, wisdom and … hope.
Sidonie
Thank you so much for your kind words! His timing is perfect.
I am so so thrilled for you!!! Congratulations, my friend! Hope is so hard … but you are right, letting go of hope doesn’t make it hurt less, not at all. You have so much wisdom for us as you write about the journeys through life and hurt and hope and love. Thank you!
Thanks for walking beside me from a distance!
Wooohooooo!!!!!! Love baby hope so much!!! Praying for you in these last few months of pregnancy.
Thank you so much, my friend!!
If I begin a book that has a questionable outcome, I have to read the end first to see if I’m willing to carry on. Because I love the way you write and because I wanted to hope for as long as I could hope, I began at the beginning and read to the end….and then cried my own tears of joy. Congratulations to all of you!! I love the nickname Baby Hope.
Aww, thank you so much, Michelle! With God, there are no questionable outcomes. 🙂
Beautiful and praying for you. So happy
Love and hugs to you, Judy!
Dearest Stephanie, reading this brought happy tears and a heart of renewed joy. Congratulations to you and Daniel on baby Hope! Praying with you 🙂
Thank you, my friend! I have been wearing the nest necklace from you as a symbol of hope!
Just beautiful Stephanie. ❤️
Thank you, my friend!
I’m so happy for you!!!
Thanks so much!
If I was near you, you’d feel my too long hug of joy! May God bless your HOPE!
I miss your hugs!
Thrilled for your sweet family!
Thanks so much, Dee!
What about reading an article without giving us the “mascara” warning! I am crying happy tears for you and your family.
HA! Sorry for my lack of a disclaimer up front! Thanks, Sandi!
I came looking for you today after way too long of not seeing your blog. I am so glad to have found you again, and so happy for you and your sweet family! May Baby Hope rest and grow these next couple of months—with enough kicks and punches to reassure you—and arrive safely and joyfully, right on time. I’ll be waiting from afar to meet her/him.
Aww, thank you so much, Ginger! I appreciate your blessing!