Hope
I decorated my Christmas tree for the first time in four years.
I absolutely love Christmastime—the feeling of magic in the air from the twinkling lights and festive cheer. The sharing of the true meaning of Christmas—celebrating Jesus’s birth. But the last time I decorated my Christmas tree, I was engaged and blissfully unaware of the tidal wave and storm about to hit. By the time the next Christmas came around, the hurt was too raw to decorate my tree, and in the years following (which included a mix of joy and other storms and loss), there was lingering ache around decorating the tree alone. So I simply put up the tree without any ornaments.
Today, as I felt overwhelmed by hope, I also felt ready to decorate the tree.
It seems like a paradox, to be overwhelmed by something so good, rooted in the most beautiful gift from God. But I’ve struggled to fully embrace hope in the past few years. God carried me through turbulent storms and heart shattering loss. He’s helped me navigate grief and healing and I’ve learned to rest in His peace, but I continue to fight fear from creeping in. I’m an optimistic person, yet I’ll find myself metaphorically holding my breath, imagining the worst in certain situations so I can be prepared, because then it won’t hurt as much…right? It’s a lingering trauma response and mostly surrounds losing someone I love or a dream (hope). Out of “self-defense,” I’ve stopped short of boundless hope.
Today’s sermon was on Hope, and it moved me deeply. Overwhelmed by hope, remember?
Over the past few months I’ve dwelled in deep gratitude of how God has provided for me and never left me hanging; how even in seasons of waiting and loneliness, His presence and provision was always there. Today’s sermon cut deeper into the truth of His provision and promises, reminding me to exhale and loosen my grip on the process and journey to get there and to allow myself to fully hope.
So, I decorated my Christmas tree.
I was reminisced on the story behind each ornament—collected around the country and world or gifted by loved ones. And when I found a hidden note from my former fiancé, I froze only for a second before crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash. Of course, it triggered a reflection on all that has happened in the past four years and the goodness of God magnified through it all.
As I write this, unpacking the layers of truth and emotion, I hear a whispering, “are you ready to let go of that fear?”
I realize the hope feels overwhelming because it is new, different from the comforting peace I’ve been resting in. That felt like curling up in a cozy blanket for a much needed rest, this hope is a lightness, feeling like I’m floating on the edge of a beautiful unknown. So, even as I’m tired and longing for deep, soul-restorative rest by green pastures, I’m going to allow myself to float (rest) in this hope, and enjoy my decorated Christmas tree as a reminder of where my hope comes from.
“For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” - Philippians 1:6
12.3.23