Author: Hope Surrendered

Finding Hope above the Clouds

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Heaven Photo

A quick glance at this photo makes me think of Heaven.

I know the third Heaven looks nothing like this, but flying above the clouds and seeing such a distinct separation of the levels within the first Heaven just makes me think about the second Heaven (where the planets and stars dwell) and then the third Heaven (the beyond-it-all where our Lord dwells). Therefore, I think of Heaven when I see an image like this.

Someone I know recently passed away. I know her soul was caught up into the Heavenly realms.

She was a Believer, but she wasn’t the kind who just believed; she was the kind who lived life in such a way that others wanted to know from where her strength came. She didn’t hesitate to share the answer with others. She was even doing it in her final moments here on this Earth. She knew — with absolute certainty — where she was headed when she took her last breath.

Her passing was sad for so many who had been impacted by her life, but her passing was also a celebration for the many who knew her and the many more who knew of her. When one lives their life in such a way that others want to know from where strength comes, one is living out loud. She lived and loved out loud.

I want to live that way.

I feel part of being able to live that way is knowing about eternity. There is a peace and a calm knowing where eternity will be spent. I feel that peace and calm about my eternity. Do you?

You can know, for sure. You can KNOW — with absolute certainty — where you will spend your eternity.

When I fly, I love the moment in which the airplane breaks through the dismal, grey clouds to reach the sunshine that waits above them. Sometimes it’s a bumpy ride to the other side, but what is waiting is nearly always the same. I love the times when I can look down and see a fluffy, white carpet of clouds, then look across and see the place where the clouds meet the bright, blue sky. It doesn’t matter what is going on down there underneath the grey clouds, because there, above them, is a different view. It’s a peace and a calm.

I am sure some of that was what my friend experienced in her final moments. She had a bumpy ride, but she knew the peace and calm of the other side. She knew the place to which she was headed to spend her eternity.

Finding Hope in New Adventures

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Box

I tried something new the other day.

I know. It sounds like a meaningless subject to write about, but for me, it isn’t. Although I’ve gotten more adventurous over the years, trying something new and outside of my comfy box is still a challenge for me.

I didn’t have the most supportive family life when it came to trying new things. My parents each had their own box of comfortable, and, growing up, I was expected to fit into one of those boxes of comfortable which they maintained. If I wanted to try something outside of their boxes, I was on my own. When I’d succeed, I’d hear little of it; when I failed, I’d hear short quips about not doing well or about how failing would not have happened had I just not tried. The quips weren’t supportive. The quips created a fear of failure in me.

So, I grew up with boxes. I grew up with boxes, because I dared not disappoint the people who provided me some semblance of encouragement when I stayed in their comfort zone. I grew up with boxes, because I dared not disappoint the people who provided me a brief reprimand when I failed at something outside of their comfort zone. I have no memory of my parents ever encouraging me toward a task or activity that was outside of their comfort zone.

Failure at an activity or task equaled failure at life — so I perceived. I didn’t want to be a failure, so I stuck with what I was told I was good at doing, I stuck with what was safe, and, for the most part, I stuck with what was in their boxes..

I missed out on so many things I wanted to do or wanted to try because of a fear of failure.

As I’ve matured, I’ve recognized how this kind of childhood has impacted me. Trying new activities, trying new hobbies, playing games (I couldn’t chance being the loser), even trying new menu items has created a feeling of discomfort for me. However, I’ve also recognized how trying new things outside of the their-box-had-become-my-box zone has been good and genuinely rewarding for me.

You see…I have discovered that I am good at things that have nothing to do with their box. I’ve also discovered that I am good at things outside of my husband’s box (it’s a bigger box, thank goodness!) and my children’s boxes.

It’s about time. I’m plenty old enough to have my own box. I’m old enough to take responsibility for my own choices in life, and I’m also old enough to not have to fear blowing the sides out of my box to try new adventures.

So, I tried something new the other day. Wow! I did have fun! I wasn’t very good at it at first, but the people I was with found the positive in how I persevered, and they kept encouraging me. By the end of the day, I was pretty good at this new adventure. I had fun blowing out the sides of my box.

I had fun failing, struggling, trying again and succeeding.

These days, I’m working on not having such a neat and tidy box of comfortable. There are blessings in that ol’ box, but there are adventures and blessings in the opportunities which lie outside of that box, too. I’m slowly learning not to fear failure, for there is a lot to be learned by the experience and the path taken, not just on the outcome and end result.

I’m a work in progress — we all are. I am enjoying the adventure!

Reaping a Harvest

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Peas

The peas are finished.  An abundant bounty was provided and reaped.

I spent a lot of time preparing the soil, selecting my seeds, planting with care, pruning seedlings, pulling weeds and praying over what I hoped would grow. My wish was to provide healthy, organic veggies to my family and feed my interest in gardening.

At the first picking, I was like a child who had gotten into a jumbo bag of chocolate candies. Really! That’s how excited I was to get out there and pluck the pods from the vines! I was so pleased with how the peas had grown. As I was picking, I’d pop open some of the pods and taste the freshness contained within. Some of the peas were nestled in their pod in a perfect row; others were odd-shaped or off-kilter when cracked open. Some should have stayed on the vine a little longer (my yearning to pluck them got the best of me), but their sweetness was still divine.

There were a few more pickings that followed, but the bounty was less each time. My excitement seemed to lessen with each subsequent picking.

The time came to decide if I thought I’d get any more peas. There were a few flowers and even fewer flower buds, so I left the vines in place with the hopes of getting one more small crop. I did, but it was only enough for one family dinner.

Once I knew the supply was exhausted for the season, it was time to pull the vines. Have you ever grown peas before? There are an abundance of vines. Each dried pea planted is a vine grown. The vines are leafy and full. Pulling the vines led to the discovery of a tiny weed and bug menagerie living at the soil level.

With each handful of vines I pulled, I’d say a little prayer of thanksgiving for the abundance provided. (When I’m in the garden, I talk to myself, and I talk to the Lord a lot.) Cleaning out the vines, weeding the new space, turning over the soil and preparing it for the next planting was not as fun and exciting as it was when I did it for the first planting, but it was rewarding since I knew the bounty would grow with some care and nurturing.

Gardening doesn’t always turn out successfully with a single crop or even within a single season, but, overall, an educated gardener should be able to expect a satisfying crop over the span of seasons.

Life doesn’t always turn out exactly how we’d like it to in a day, a month or a year, but an invested believer can trust in that which is promised.

The Difference a Year Can Make

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Calendar

A few years ago, my life was turned upside down due to choices a loved one had made. The choices were made over a long period of time, but there came a day when the consequences of those choices began to clearly unfold. It was devastating.

The choices made and the consequences which unfolded took yet another turn a year ago. What a difference a year can make. It’s a day in which I can look back and recognize as one of the worst of my life, yet also one of the best, too. It’s a day that became an end and a day that became a beginning. Dreams and hopes were shattered, yet dreams and hopes were also born that day.

Choices have consequences and consequences lead to more choices. The choices my loved one made had far-reaching consequences, but MY OWN choices that ensued had the power to lead to even further-reaching consequences.

We can not control the choices of another person. In marriage, in parenting, in business relationships, in friendships, and in life, we all face choices. We are quick to judge and quick to offer opinions about the choices others make, yet we have a hard time realizing that the follow-up choices WE make in response to another’s choices we didn’t make may have a longer-lasting effect.

When I look at where I am today and I compare it to where I was a year ago, so many feelings surface. Life today is not the way I’d desire it to be, nor was it a year ago. Many of the shattered dreams and hopes still lie in pieces — shards that pierce, shards that cut to the core. Despite having to step carefully through what has been lost, I’ve developed a sense of determination and hope that has transformed much of the hurt into blessings. The path forward has been about the choices I’ve made and the hope I’ve found by weighing my own choices — those I have needed to make and those which have been made in response to choices others have made.

I can’t wave a magic wand and have the kind of life I’ve dreamed about…even that life would bring challenges and choices of its own! What I can do, though, is realize that despite the impact others might have on me, I am the one who can impact my future more than anyone else.

We were created by our God to do life together, and He created each of us with our own free will. Others can influence our free will for the positive or for the negative, but where we allow our will to lead is completely up to us. I don’t usually advocate thinking about Self first, but when it comes to the choices we make, Self is the one who can choose to follow the God-honoring path.

Although there are still hurts and struggles, there are also hopes and dreams. He’s given me free will. I’m working on using my free will to make choices that focus on the positive as much as I can.

What a difference a year can make.

Finding Hope in the Intention

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Intention.Rings

He makes the bed.

There’s a history here and an even bigger story, but what I want to share with you is one of the shards I spoke of in an earlier post (Finding Hope in Shattered Dreams).

He makes the bed.

A few years ago and simply out of the blue, my husband began making our bed each morning. No announcements, no asks, no conversations. He just began making the bed.

He’s a very early riser. He’s up hours before the dawn. Me? Not so much. I love to watch a sunrise, but it is rare for me to see one.

Shortly after I’m out of bed and stumbling to the kitchen for a cup of coffee with my matted hair and slippers, he heads back into the bedroom to make the bed.

When he first started doing this, I interpreted it as an “I want the bed made, so I’m going to do it after you FINALLY get yourself out of it” kind of thing. He never propped himself up to me, nor did he boast about making the bed after doing it. In fact, he never said anything about it. This was just MY interpretation of his actions. After a few weeks of him making it daily, I caught him in the act one day and decided to join him. While helping, I asked him about it.

His answer floored me.

“I do it to honor you, to honor our marriage and to honor our marriage bed. Making the bed is a reminder to me about the kind of godly husband I want to be and need to be.”

My judgments stopped cold at that moment. His answer gave me a glimmer of hope during a very rough period in our marriage.

Jump forward to today:  He’s still an early riser; I’m still not. He still makes the bed; I — prayerfully and in hopes surrendered — allow him to do so.

There are days I will make the bed, and there are days we’ll do it together. Most days, though, he makes the bed.

I’ve never checked in with him about why he still does so, but I’m hoping that if I were to ask, his answer would still be the same.