Hope: A Lost Art? Nah.
When I’m old and wisened, I might write a book about hope. Over these past couple of years, I’ve thought a lot about the discipline and beauty of hope; I’ve noticed its extreme unpopularity in our feed-me! culture; I’ve even developed a working title for said book: The Lost Art of Hoping. Oh, it’ll be a deeply motivating book about how we can peacefully and gracefully hope our way through life. I’ll use some convincing schematic that will help us all wait for jobs, raises, spouses, babies, and vacations well.
As it turns out, I’m awake at 2 a.m. and thinking that my title is all wrong. Tonight, I’m thinking perhaps there isn’t any *art* to hope at all. Perhaps hope is just one of those things that we can’t do well; that it inherently requires sleepless nights, risks, tears, moodiness, and imaginary friends as we bumble through this mysterious life. Perhaps the point is simply that we do it at all, never really controlling circumstances, God, or blood-flow as much as we think we do. Scripture is full of stories about people (Abraham, Ruth, Moses, Mary, Peter) who hoped awkwardly; who am I to think that I’d be any different?
I talked to a friend tonight who wants nothing more than to be married. Here it was Valentine’s Day and all she had was a “hot date” with her computer and a stack of books. She said she dressed up just in case. Beautiful in a little red dress, she probably cranked out a couple paragraphs of a term paper, closed her laptop, and went to bed. Maybe on the phone-side of the bed, just in case. Awkward. No formula. No art. Just raw, did-I-shave-my-legs-for-this? hope.
I knew she was telling me these things because she wanted me to say something grandly hopeful like “I’m sure he’ll stop by with a quart of Ben and Jerry’s” or something, but I just couldn’t muster anything up. Mostly ’cause…
Here’s what hope looked like for me today: I was up at 5 a.m. doing leg lifts and marching around our tiny house to see if my light contractions would pump out a Valentine’s Day baby. At mid-afternoon, I walked up and down the mall with a friend (I actually debated whether or not I should bring clean towels and dental floss - to tie off the umbilical cord - should I give birth in J.C. Penny’s). As contractions began again this evening, I hurriedly packed my toiletries bag, thinking that the baby was on its way. I looked at the clock gazillions of times, thinking that I was watching the time tick down to delivery. I changed the sheets, did one more load of laundry, handed my front-door key over to my mom, vacuumed under the cushions, and hung the baby’s “One Year” calendar on the fridge. My Bible and journal are in the front seat of the CRV, my body pillow is in the trunk, and I have no meal planned for tomorrow night’s dinner.
Then, my contractions stopped.
I was grumpy, but still hopeful.
Certain that they would start up again once I went to sleep, I switched sides with Ryan and slept on the clock-side of the bed, so as to time my sure-to-be-sensational contractions. But, all I have to show for my work is a real peaceful slumber from about 9 p.m. - 1:30 a.m. And a blog at 2 - no, now almost 3 - a.m. That’s all. Awkward. No formula. No art. Just raw hope… whining and wondering… “knowing” that the time will actually come, but feeling certain that it won’t.
But now I seriously do feel a contraction, so I’m going to go walk around in circles, in the baby’s room, in the dark, just in case anything starts moving…
February 15th, 2008 at 7:29 am
Oh Laura, I can’t wait meet “jingle bells!” How wonderful and aweful the anticipation! Praying for you.
February 15th, 2008 at 11:01 am
The 24th? NO WAY!!! Sounds like you might just have a few more hours (if that!) ahead of you!!! Praying!!!!!
I hope some in the know relative posts for us - I hope this IS IT!!!!
February 15th, 2008 at 1:53 pm
Heh - you’d think that after one baby, you’d “KNOW” when the contractions were real, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately, it took me three babies to realize I had no idea if they were “real” until my reaction to them was, “Oh, my gosh this hurts like crazy!”
I say “real” - the good news is that they are all real contractions. Just think of this as your body getting some of the labor done ahead of time.
Can’t wait to hear the baby’s been born!
February 16th, 2008 at 9:15 am
hoping, hoping, hoping that your sweet babe is here!!! EEEK!!!!
February 18th, 2008 at 9:40 pm
Just feeling hopeful, and checking on you….
February 22nd, 2008 at 11:20 pm
You know Laura, this post made me think.
The famous faith/hope verse Hebrews 11:1 defines those two ineffables as the concrete evidence of things not seen. I think your daughter’s birth is a perfect metaphor: she was certainly coming, but she for a long time was not yet seen. All you had to grasp ahold of were evidences like contractions and a swelling tummy.
The real problem with hope is that the evidences can be few and far between, and rarely do they come when expected (like you sleeping on the clock-side of the bed). In fact, the very choice to sleep on the clock-side is an exercise of hope, a reaching for the unseen, a posturing to receive the not-yet.
And isn’t that what it looks like to live a life of hope? We bank our emotions on fleeting evidences, and rearrange our lives to suit the certain but unmanifested future. We change where we sleep, we pack the CRV, we deliberately don’t make dinner, we vacuum under the cushions and (if you’ll permit) we make our entire world a cradle-of-hope that anticipates the future that we desire. It can feel stretched out and lifeless and sometimes frustrating, but maybe that’s just what hope feels like– protracted desire.