“For You have been my hope, O Sovereign Lord, my confidence since my youth.” Psalm 71:5 (NIV)
I know He can. I know He is able. I know He is sovereign. I know He has good plans for us. And I rest in that knowledge. I believe. And I pray. I pray that He will. Until the last breath, I have hope.
Hope for our future. Hope that the two of us see both of our children graduated from high school. Hope of the beauty of weddings and grandchildren, side-by-side. Hope of sitting on the front porch watching the squirrels and birds, holding hands across the table. Hope of walking hand-in-hand down the street to the square or in the hardware store. Hope of growing old – together.
Hope for ministry. Hope that we can shout from the rooftops “How great Thou art!” together, with grey hair and a slower gait. Hope to be a walking beacon of His grace, His power, and His healing. I have hope.
And amidst that hope, I live in our reality. A reality that says the number on the scale is falling. A reality that says pain is increasing and food consumption is decreasing. A reality that says a whole month has gone by; one out of too few possibly remaining. A reality filled with tears and laughter. A reality of roller coaster highs and lows. A reality of one meal at a time and one day at a time.
A reality of living God’s hands and feet and provision in the faces and names of His people, both far and near. A reality that we are not alone.
Reality says to research and discuss and make decisions. Reality says to make a plan and walk it out as best we can. Reality is still played out in prayer – lots and lots of prayer. All the while covered under the umbrella of hope. We cannot be paralyzed by hope, we must be fueled by it to walk in the reality before us. Because ultimately, our hope lies in the One we look to for all; and it lies in eternity. Selfishly, I pray that eternity can wait to make its call to home until sometime in the distant future. Either way, I pray for grace and wisdom to walk and live in the dichotomy of hope and reality.