The Life of Hope

When I was yet a child, she became my child, and many told me to call her Hope. Her arrival was preceded by neither conception nor the process of birth to my remembrance. She had rather somehow always been there in some form, each mirroring the words upon which I depended for sustenance.

A flattery of ringlets, each select and closed, covered her head. Their future promised thick, beautiful tresses of silken pride and her eyes already shone of the deepest shade of self. She was my child, my creation, and I would give her anything to continue her growth.

I sought the wisdom of the world and gave her the gift of deception provided by the generations. "Her success is dependant on you!" they cried, "Let life be her servant". And I agreed.

In their ways I raised her. Her growth consumed my strength and yet she remained a weak child. When I was no longer able to satisfy her demanding appetite on my own, I placed myself in the service of the counsel of acceptance, the depth of my performance determining the depth of their "charity."

I toiled to provide for her happiness. Clothing her in beautiful skirts of indulgence and sacrificing the hearts and minds of others as toys for her amusement. It was through her I would find my value. The world's wisdom had promised. It was through her I would know my name. The generations had vowed.

Now acceptance had become my master. That which I had sought out had become that which preyed upon me. I had masked my pain with the fury of my own efforts. Her existence had been my labor and to survive I must sever the cord.

Her death brought the end of illusions and without illusion, I knew sight no more. In darkness, despair encircled me. It's incapacitating claws enslaving my heart. Only pain was able to maintain an open passage.

"Fear, my companion, will you not allow me peace?" I begged, "Apathy, my refuge, will you not hide my sorrow?" In value, I saw there was no place for me, and acceptance was merely a show.

I chose anger for my shield. Justified by reason, weapons of hatred and rebellion flew silently from my fortress of withdrawal. Then, when they seemed spent, I tossed my final token from hope: dreams, vision, and purpose then wrapped in their cloak of failure.

In sorrow, I held them over my head. In surrender, I mourned their loss. Yet, as I released them, failure fell and their beautiful colors once more danced before my eyes. I heard His voice, as yet unknown,"These things are mine. Failure cannot hold them". Toward revelation I turned my face and my heart beheld His promise: Perfect Love. Releasing; Despair you have no place. Cleansing; Reason you have no justification. Comforting; Forever on my heart child, your face is etched. Inviting; I AM your confidence child. In whom will you trust?

As flesh is crucified, purpose experiences resurrection. It was here that my Hope was conceived. As He would be my father, there also she was. An aspect of Him; Grace as mother to nurture me.

As Perfect Love, He vanquished fear. As love without condition, Grace forgave, Grace empowered, and Grace lovingly attended Hope's birth.

My heart reached out to tenderly embrace new life. While true Hope knows no boundaries, and it's depth and reach cannot be contained, I could only hold what my heart would see. What appeared as a fragile newborn in my sight was born complete. Its very essence all that I would ever need, all that I could ever desire, all that ever was or would be.

As if in witness, when I sought to catch His gaze, the strength of His Father shone brightly in His eyes. Each time, He assuaged fear. Each time, He satisfied doubt.

How often shall the familiar rob the sight of my destiny? How many more lie hidden and in wait? The approaching darkness frightens me. Loneliness is suspended as a shroud above my head. Pain's envoys prepare now for my burial. Defeat approaches me as an old friend and deception hovers ever near. Slumber seduces but her peace and rest have been overthrown. Confusion strikes at Deception's command and Revelation listens for my request.

Patterns follow patterns, though their colors may change. Do no let my life be defined by the patterns I employ but rather by the decision I make this day to reconcile them to your purposes.

Despair, you have no place. I know release. Reason you have no justification. I know healing. I choose to forgive and He has forgiven me. I find comfort in He who is my confidence. Come, you circumstances who wish to chain me. Meet my Hope. He is my joy.

Now, in obedience, I will abide in Hope, secure in knowing He has stationed Truth as my guardian. I will yield to those He has provided as teachers; Patience and Perseverance, and I will mirror Grace's love. For with their help I will be sustained and my Hope shall mature into Faith. Through faith I am restored, through faith I have been reconciled and through faith I will return home to my Father.

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Contributed by K.L. Ragin
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