Two springs ago, just before I celebrated Passover in Israel, I asked God a question. Not an angsty one, just a simple wonderment, like a child would express to her daddy. “Would it be better if I stopped hoping I’ll get married someday?”
I meant: Would it be wiser? Would it be a better use of energy? Is this just not the direction You’re going?
I let the question hang in the air and went on with my life. After all, I’ve found that God seems to love direct questions, and if I’m patient, the answer will come into focus. Here’s what happened in the next few days:
Boundless highlighted this article: “Why You Should Keep Hoping for Marriage.”
A four-year-old post I wrote for Resurrection Day came up in my feed:
David Wells speaks of prayer as rebellion against the status quo: to be so convinced that God is able and willing to do good in the world that we humbly demand, “Your kingdom come! Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven!”
I read a review of The Waiting, in which 93-year-old Minka DeYoung’s prayer-grown-into-hope became reality: she found the daughter she’d given up for adoption — 77 years before.
I reread Every Bitter Thing is Sweet, in which Sara Hagarty hoped for twelve long years before she bore a child.
And I listened to “But God.”
To me, His answer was clear: It just wasn’t time to stop hoping for marriage. And despite the sorrows of that year, it ended with something beautiful: my friend “Mark” asked me to consider a deeper relationship. Feeling like I was perched on the edge of a roller coaster, I deliberately chose to hope in a more serious way than ever before.
Hope itself is a gift, it’s true. But the Bible says that deferred (or prolonged or long-drawn-out) hope makes our hearts sick. There’s so much risk, and even grief, that can come along with making the choice to hope.
And yet (right in the face of many disappointments) I have found abundant reason to believe that God has provided the means to renew my hope in Him.
If you’re feeling exhausted, cynical or sad, or if you’re asking the same questions I was, then “When Hoping Hurts” is my gift to you.
Elisabeth Adams 