Hope. It’s been a year of hope deferred. If I’m honest, it’s been longer, but this year has been something else. The world, caught up in uncertainty and a host of other things there’s no need to name, is weary. We all feel it to some degree and it’s getting heavy. Really heavy.
You tell us that hope deferred makes our heart sick. An extended season of hoping, not seeing what it is we hope for come to fruition, and falling into despair as a result (rinse and repeat) wears us down and wears us out. We’re all tired and heartsick right about now.
As Advent dawns and the season of longing begins for a world feeling crushed, come. Come and restore a childlike hope, a quiet contemplative hope, and the last ditch kind of hope that cries out “I’m done! I just can’t do this any longer.”
And as we ponder the mystery of One who came and who will come, prepare our hearts. Restore our hope.
We need it. More than ever.
I need it.