Experiencing Hope Fatigue

My sweet boy got fitted for a wheelchair a few weeks ago. I found myself back at square one, soaked in disappointment at the unfolding of our story… What I’d give for a normal life untainted by disease and handicap passes. 

Maybe that’s what they call Hope fatigue? This tangible thing that clutters our hearts and gets the best of our minds. It takes the wheel and leads us to permanently park in our disappointments and our “not yet’s”.

If it had a face it would probably be Mary or Martha’s when their brother Lazarus dies…

If it had a sound it would probably be pure silence with no evidence of life…
If it had a taste it would probably be the salt from a fresh tear or maybe the bitterness of old wine. 

I think learning the discipline of holding onto Jesus tighter than our unanswered prayers feels impossible and even irresponsible at times but I’ve learned that the fruit of holding Him tighter than anything else is that it demands a rest that cannot be found elsewhere. And the thing about rest is that it’s always congruent with hope, you know what I mean? It can’t be manufactured and there is no placebo for it… Simply put, rest in its purest form will always be a catalyst of hope. And what’s on the other side of fresh hope? A steady hand with a hole in it and a still voice saying “Trust me, I’m with you.” 

I’ll end it with this; we do not trip into durable and dense hope. We fight for it… Not by entitled screaming or striving but by abiding and listening… Could it be that in order for hope to be fruit in the garden of our hearts we must first fertilize it with rest? And does rest not demand us to listen and meditate on who He is rather than what we do not yet have? 

So maybe disappoints and disasters and wheelchairs and medications don’t have to weigh us down to the point where we collapse but maybe somehow in God’s kindness they could invite us to lean in closer… maybe even close enough to hear His whisper. 

“I the Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still. “
Exodus 14:14