A thrill of hope

This year did not play out the way I thought it might. I am learning that this will likely always be the case. The unexpected is becoming commonplace. I can only hope that sometimes the unexpected will be bright, comforting, and good. If I pause long enough to recognize these subtle moments, that hope will prove true: a thoughtful, easy conversation with my teenaged son; a sunset so captivating that for a moment time seems to stand still as I hover in the wonder of mere existence; a financial boost I hadn’t seen coming … sometimes the unexpected is good.

To me that is the most exciting thing about life – you truly never know what is going to happen on any given day. Each new moment holds the potential to be the greatest moment ever … which means each new moment also holds the potential for great disappointments or sadness. Two sides of the same coin – love and loss, hope and despair, life and death. The older I get, the more complicated of a dance it becomes – stepping into the rhythm of joyous times and just as quickly turning into the movements of big emotions, learning to reign them in or to let them flow depending on the situation and those who are dancing along; most of us are clumsy at first, feeling we have the steps all wrong; some are graceful and skilled, and we watch in awe and our hearts ache because we know they are so good at the dance because they have had to do it so often. This is one skill I would rather not have to perfect.

I have always loved the song “O Holy Night.” The lyric “a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices” often gives me actual goosebumps when I hear it. It makes me feel connected to something far bigger than me when I sing along. Last year the thrill of hope was very real, as this whole world had grown so weary of Covid and the enormous sadness it unleashed on so many levels, and we collectively hoped that things would soon improve.

This year I hoped that a life changing diagnosis that my younger cousin had received would resolve with treatment and that her health would be restored. Today is Christmas Eve and I learned that she peacefully passed on this morning. The hope I had for her healing did not happen the way I would have chosen. The space between now and eternity seems to get smaller with each beloved family member and friend I have to bid farewell. Two of my cousins have crossed that space this year – one from each side of the family. My dance feels awkward and unsure as I wonder how to comfort those whom I love that are feeling these absences the most profoundly.

I am finding that the darker the days, the more I understand the sentiment behind “a thrill of hope” … so weary of sadness, I am finding my hope lies in something far beyond my finite understanding. Something beyond life as we know it. Something eternal.

The commercialization of Christmas is difficult to stomach when hearts are broken. But I believe that God is near the brokenhearted. I am hopeful that the stories are true, because in moments like this, that’s really all I have. Just this thrill of hope. Someday we will meet again, well and restored. The more people I love and lose, the less scary eternity feels. May a thrill of hope remain in us all for as long as our dance continues.