Hope Is Quiet
Today I’ve set myself up in our bedroom for a day of solitude.
I marked it on our shared calendar, letting my husband know that I wasn’t avoiding him, put my ear buds in as a physical reminder to myself and him that I was off-air for the day.
I’ve been longing for silence and solitude more these days… a desire to turn up the volume of God’s voice and hear over all the other voices that compete for my attention. I’m well aware of the world’s news headlines, the prayer-request emails from church, the needs of our own city, our church’s activities and invitations to be involved, our friends and families’ cares and concerns, and our community’s bake sales and fundraisers. I want to be aware and open to knowing the needs of the world around me, but also, if I’m not careful, I’ll become deaf to my own needs as well.
But I am not the hope. I am not the solution. I am not what people (or myself) need.
In each of our stories, we experience things that teach us how to cope. We choose to keep the peace and avoid conflict, maintaining the status quo. We may be in so much pain (physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually) that we can’t possibly imagine any other way forward except what we have known. So we do the same things – hoping for better results, but it doesn’t happen, and we are disappointed.
Hope is quiet.
It is a small change.
It is subtle.
It’s the moment when a young, tired parent looks at the pile of laundry on the floor and chooses to be present and play with their kid a little longer. Then, thanking God for the clothes, they start the washer.
It’s when a couple is arguing about something way less significant than their relationship, and they pause to say, “I love you, I’m hurting, and I’m not sure how to communicate it”.
It’s when financial pressure builds, and instead of isolating, a text is sent to a friend to meet for coffee, where support is found, one vulnerable sentence at a time.
Hope is quiet. It doesn’t trumpet its arrival. It’s the faint cry of a baby in a manger behind a no-vacancy inn.
In this first week of Advent, there is the sound of hope. Something is happening. Someone is coming. Can you hear it?