I think hope is so fundamental to who we are as human beings.
But how do we keep believing?
That the missing cat will return.
That someone who is ill will get better.
That your growing child will become who he/she needs to be.
That the relationship that feels broken will heal, and the person you love will love you back.That the world as a whole be improved for all.
That your growing child will become who he/she needs to be.
That the world as a whole be improved for all.
These are the longings of our hearts, the things we desire, want, and need to trust in.
So how do we keep hoping? How do we keep trusting? How do we keep the faith that somehow, it will work out?
I don’t think there’s one answer. We’re all different. Each situation is different. Each circumstance is different.
But I do think it’s a great opportunity to reflect:
- What does hope do for you?
- How do you keep trusting, even when there are signs that maybe you shouldn’t?
- Is it something you feel in your body, a deep knowing?
- Is it simply belief?
- Or is it something else entirely?
For me, past experience has shaped how I see it. In a relationship that wasn’t working, someone once said to me, and I forget who, but it was wise advice, “When the pain becomes greater than the pleasure, it’s time to move on.”
That became a barometer for me. A way of knowing when to hold on, and when to let go.
And yet, where I am right now feels different.
For months, I dreamt of a cat, many times. Then one day, synchronistically, I felt to look at a shelter where we had adopted our dog, Lemonade. Scrolling through the pictures of cats, I saw her. She was the very cat I had been dreaming about.
The next day, my son and I went to fetch her.
She was so scared at first, in a frozen and fawn state, almost sickly. But we loved her into life. Slowly, she became this magnificent cat. Just a few weeks ago, she turned one.
I adore her. Truly. She follows me everywhere, like my shadow. She is company, comfort, and pure love.
And then last week, after I dropped my son at tutoring and ran some errands, I came home and she wasn’t here. At first I thought, oh, she’s adventuring in the garden, as she had been doing recently. She’d been growing up, catching birds and lizards.
But hours went by. And something in me knew. This wasn’t like her.
I’ve searched. I’ve hoped. And while I am heartbroken, devastated is an understatement, something deep inside me will not stop believing.
I cannot stop hoping that we will find her safe and healthy.
That she will come back to our family.
Hope asks us to keep our hearts open, even when it hurts.
It’s not always logical. It doesn’t always make sense. But it’s the thread that keeps us connected to love, to possibility, to the unseen.
Maybe hope is what teaches us to keep showing up, even when we don’t know the outcome.
Maybe it’s what helps us trust that whatever happens, we will find the strength to carry it.
So if you are in a season where holding on feels hard, know this: you are not alone.
Keep listening to that quiet voice within you. Keep noticing what hope feels like in your body.
And above all, keep trusting in your own resilience, because sometimes hope is not only about what we long for, it’s also about who we become in the waiting.