Hope. It's the promise of things to come, knowing there is more to be offered, more to draw from. Hope can be wanting something never had, or wanting something had before but yearned for again; hopelessness does not have to precede hopefulness. Having hope does not mean feeling dissatisfied with what you have, it just means knowing there is always the promise of more.
As the present slips away, we need more to cling to. As joy-experienced fades, there is hope for future joy elsewhere. God is able to do immeasurably more than we could ever imagine (Ephesians 3:20), and because of this promise there is always hope for things to come.
With each season, it comes new. Winter, you hope for warmth and sun. Summer, you hope for cool and color. There'll always be new things to hope for. Things you don't have. Hope's the belief they will arrive. You've seen the proof of it. You have to have seen it!
Winter, in particular, is a season of hope. Hidden hope. Only, we can shed some light on it, expose it, rip it from the barrenness. All the leaves are gone, but for the last twenty years we've seen them return, and people have seen them all the years prior. We have no reason to doubt. There is hope between those empty branches.
Hope doesn't have to drift away, either. Just when life becomes still or mundane, just when you've said goodbye to people you love, just when you've lost, you remember what's coming. Good things! We hold onto hope for GOOD things. Gifts, even. And we have a Father who delights in giving them.
There is hope for you too, whoever you are. Hope for redemption in quiet struggles. Hope in strained friendships, because community doesn't fade without a fight. Assurance of sunlight despite the fog. Hope doesn't mean you'll get everything you've ever wanted; you'll get what's good and true, given freely out of love.
- L & K