Hope

Sometimes the brokenness of the world just seems to be too much. Maybe I'm just getting older and my mortality is becoming more real. Maybe the feeling of invincibility from youth is starting to wear off. Maybe I am just starting to realize how broken this place we call home really is.

Seems like the number of heartbreaking stories I hear is on the rise. The number of success stories is in steep decline. At least once a month I hear another story about someone being diagnosed with cancer. Every couple months I hear a story about a pregnancy or delivery that goes terribly wrong and the child is born with severe health problems, or is not born at all. Every once in a while you get the sudden death of a loved one, or one of your friend's loved ones, or one of your friends, or your friend's friend...etc, etc. You turn on the tv for more than 1 minute and you'll see a tragic story about death, or genocide, or natural disasters that kill in the hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, or even the hundreds of thousands... the numbers and the stories become too much for me. They become unreal in a way.

When was the last time you lost someone? Are you losing someone? Are you losing yourself?

My grandma Rose died a few years back. While I wasn't close with my grandmother, seeing the reaction of all my aunts and uncles and my mom, all her children... it was terrible. I sang at the funeral. My mom asked if I'd sing "The Old Rugged Cross". I barely made it through the song. Not because I was in mourning as much as I felt like I had a front row seat to watch a room full of people mourn. I don't know if that song helped them or not, but I certainly hope it got them through that.

When I was in high school my best friend Rob Mason was killed in a tragic car accident along with another young girl. There was another young guy in the car as well named Doug. From my understanding of what happened, when the car crashed Doug was thrown from the car and that is basically why he survived because the car then exploded into flames. I can remember the look on Doug's face at the funeral. I can remember the look on the face of my best friend's mom. I can remember how his little sister seemed to understand what happened, and his little brother didn't. I can remember being a pallbearer and helping to carry out his casket. I can remember when they lowered my friend's casket into the ground. I was 15.

I guess I don't know where this post is going, but to say this... I don't know how anyone makes it through this life without a faith and hope that comes from believing in the one and only God who loves us.

I don't believe having that faith makes it easier to be here, but it certainly increases the longing for the place where we know we should be.

We weren't built for dying. We were built by two strong hands. My hope is in those hands.