When Hope Breaks Through . . .

Today marks one year.  It doesn't seem possible that an entire year has passed.  I remember as a kid thinking that an entire school year--barely 9 months long--was an eternity.  Waiting on my next birthday consisted of painstakingly counting down the months until I would hit that next age.  The Christmas season would creep by at a snail's pace leading up to that morning I'd been looking so forward to.  I've written about this previously, but it still blows my mind how our perception of time works, and I can't believe how fast this past year has flown by for us.

As I look back on the past 365 days I'm reminded of so many gut-wrenching moments.  It's not necessary to rehash those moments here.  Those moments have been documented in previous entries and if I've learned anything in the past year it's that those moments don't go away . . .  so there are sure to be more documented moments in the future.  What is necessary for me to do on this one year anniversary of the passing of our youngest son, is to reflect the good which has come in the midst of these most awful of circumstances.

Sometimes I think we try way too hard to find the good in things.  I know that may sound a little negative, but I think we are often taught that in order to cope it is necessary to find the "silver lining."  Why can't a cloud just be a cloud?  Why do I have to look for the silver lining?  Why not just accept the fact that the cloud is there and it just might rain?

We Christians are the worst at this.  We tend to think that "wallowing" in our pain and disappointment is somehow a sign that we don't have enough faith or that we lack hope.  Suffering is a real thing.  Clouds are real too.  Is it possible that instead of "looking" for the silver lining or "finding" the hope in our suffering--as if it's some prerequisite for handling pain the "right" way--that the hope may come BECAUSE of the suffering or because of the pain?

We need rain.  The rain comes because of the cloud.  If we need the rain why is it necessary to find the silver lining?  The silver lining isn't necessary but the rain is.  Finding the silver lining only makes us "feel" better, it doesn't produce the life-giving rain.

We need hope.  Hope is life-giving.  I'm not sure hope is something we "find" or "look for."  Hope comes as the result pain and suffering.  I'm pretty sure the Bible says something about that in Romans 5:2-4.  I'm not sure you can manufacture hope on your own.  I don't know if you can wish for hope and then somehow wait for it to magically appear.  I don't know.  I'll have to think on that one--not that I have the final determination--but you know how I like to wonder about these things.

In the midst of our pain we are learning what hope is.

Hope is seeing that we don't walk this journey alone.  We have family and friends--many of you--who have walked this journey with us; sometimes even carrying us when we couldn't walk on our own.

Hope is seeing that this thing will not ruin our family and, in fact, has brought us closer together.  

Hope is seeing that it's not entirely up to Amy and I to help our own kids through the unimaginable pain and life questions that come with losing their brother.

Hope is knowing that others are holding their own kids tighter, spending more quality time and loving them more because our story.

Hope is seeing that a 21-month old child can leave a lasting legacy and can touch so many lives in such a short time.

Hope is knowing that Thomas is happier now than we could ever have made him here on earth.  That's humbling, but it's true.

Hope is experiencing when our faith becomes sight.  Lots of people think that only happens when you get to heaven because you can finally see God face to face.  Sometimes we have faith that God is near.  Other times God shows up and confirms that faith by being so close that there's no doubt He is present.  God tends to draw nearest when the pain is at its worst.  Perhaps that pain is necessary for life-giving hope to thrive.

I thought I knew what hope was 366 days ago.  I think I'm beginning to see what hope is now.