diamonds and hope.

Hope can be a distinctly cruel thing. I remember a client once alluding to this idea--the feeling that hope is fleeting, that it is unreliable at best. When I look at people of great resilience, people who have overcome and failed and bounced back again, I am skeptical of their optimism. I am not inspired but rather wary of their seemingly persistent attitude of positivism in the midst of great distress.

I  am embittered by it.

I feel betrayed by hope most often. Reading the Psalms sometimes, I wonder at the bold acclamations that David made. He was so sure, so certain that God would rescue him from his troubles. That God would bring him out of the miry pit, keep his feet from slipping and his enemies forever at bay. I wonder at these verses.

From what I've seen of life, we are never too far from the edge of death and danger.

Where then, is hope to reside?

Do we keep our faith in the promises that are before us, even when they get dried up one by one?

I am learning that hope is not an outcome, but a process.

That there is a reason to joy, even when the smoke of uncertainty comes to suffocate it out.

And I do mean to joy--the act of being joyful, or the action of it.

I once asked a much different client (than the one  mentioned at the start of this blog) what it meant to him to read the Psalms in light of his current situation.

In light of losing everything.

In the certain shadow of death and--

the promise of difficulty.

This was a person who had nothing left, a person whose ground had been uprooted and turned and made barren through no fault of his own.

He was born into great privilege, safety in both family and provisions.

And  here, in the middle of his time, in the height of his career

he was brought low.

Very low.

Imagine as low as you can, and then go lower.

And yet--

he stills hopes.

Not without doubt, not without pain.

He struggles with the path that led him to where he is today.

He wonders at the raw senselessness of it.

But still, he hopes.

He says that though his circumstances are troubling, his faith has shown him that God is still good, still working in  the  middle of his wasteland.

That though God had not protected him in the manner in which he expected, that God was with him still.

That he believed beyond hope, past what he could see in front of him.

And this, this is what brought him inner peace.

Inner joy.

The  knowledge that though he could not see it now, a treasure was waiting for him.

And I don't mean necessarily in the literal sense--though I do believe that's possible as well.

I mean in the invisible sense.

That the things gained in the fire were worth the heat.

The strength.

The grace.

The hope.

So today, I am feeling joy beyond the hope.

Remembering that the fire will eventually burn out.

And maybe, just maybe

I'll find a diamond beyond the coals.

A treasure, priceless in value.

Indestructible.

And unable to be broken again.