Goodness. It’s been a minute since I’ve written in this space. I’ve been staying over on the podcast, weekly Monday Minute emails, and social media. But man, I have missed this space. 

Where it’s just me and you. 

Can I be honest with you? 

The last 6-9 months have been crazy hard for me. Actually back that up. The last year has been hard. I know I’m not alone in that. The year from hell that changed everything. In one year’s time, I lost my job, lost the amount of income I was used to, lost a home I loved, lost my church home. My kids lost their GG and the end of their school year and their home, too. We lost all sense of routine and normalcy. I also *almost* lost my dream to be a published author because the publishing house said no in November. 

And I was hoping they would say yes. 

Loss on top of loss, and I had no energy to process what was happening. I’m not even sure I do now. 

And I began spiraling deeper into myself, escaping into the world of fiction so reality wouldn’t sting so much. I began numbing and isolating. I lost myself somewhere along the way. 

But I didn’t realize until recently that I’d also lost hope. 

Though I lost so much last year, I also gained. A new job that was an answer to years of prayer. A job that is so life-giving and coworkers who are true friends. Gained a new church home— and though that process has been hard (because grieving sucks and who likes having to be a beginner again?), I am so thankful for a place to plug in. I gained a new place to live that is going to be a great fit for our family (even though it’s still in the construction phase). I gained some amazing new life long friends this last year. I gained new perspective and new awareness. I gained clarity and boldness and vision. 

But hope? Hope was nowhere to be found. 

Because instead of seeing all that I gained, the losses were too much. The new was too much. I couldn’t keep up. The waves were pulling me under. 

I couldn’t seem to find the light. The darkness was too dark. 

And I thought it would be easier to lose myself to the darkness. To just say, “to hell with it all. I can’t do it anymore.” 

“I can’t be a working writer anymore. I can’t follow this dream. It’s never going to go anywhere. I’ll never catch up. My numbers will never be good enough for a publisher to say yes.” 

“Making new friends is too hard. I’ll just keep to myself.” 

“It’s too hard being married to a coach. It feels like I’m a single mom. I don’t know if I can fight for it anymore. ” 

“Life is not what I hoped it would be. The disappointment is too great.” 

Hopelessness prevails. 

But my dear friends, we have a God of hope. The very author of hope. The one who died and rose again so that we’d never lose hope again. 

You see hope isn’t lost just because my life doesn’t look how I dreamed it would. Hope isn’t dependent on my circumstances, on my losses or gains. It is anchored in the very person of Christ. And Christ alone. 

He is the only reason I can have hope that this world is not my home. Hope of something greater, more eternal. Hope of an unbreaking, unconditional love. Hope of new things. Of new mercies. Of beauty instead of ashes, of strength instead of despair. Of joy instead of mourning. He is the one. 

And it’s time to remember to fix our eyes on Him, the author and perfector of our faith. To take our eyes off of the mess that is our lives. The pain. The loss. The grief. The fear. The heartache. The disappointment. The hurt. We see it. We acknowledge it. But we don’t let our eyes stay there. We turn our eyes toward Jesus. 

The One standing on top of the waves, holding out his hand, asking us to come to Him. We fix our eyes on Him. 

Because when we do, the darkness doesn’t seem so dark anymore. The losses and the pain don’t drown us. Because he is there. Never leaving. Never forsaking. Holding us up with him. 

May the God of hope fill you. 

May his eyes steady you. 

May his hands hold you. 

“Therefore, we who have fled to Him for refuge can have great confidence as we hold to the hope that lies before us. This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary.” Hebrews 6:18b-19, NLT

Turn your eyes upon Jesus.

Look full in His wonderful face. 

And the things of earth 

Will grow strangely dim

In the light of his glory and grace. 

Hope feels far away sometimes. 2020 almost stole it from us, and 2021 hasn’t given it all back yet. The darkness feels too dark, and hope is sitting at the surface as we fall further beneath it. This is what depression can feel like, anxiety, trauma, relationship problems. It can feel like hope is just out reach. Like nothing will change. Nothing will get better. The pandemic will never end and political drama will only get worse and the church will only get more corrupt. The finances will never be what they once were, and the marriage won’t make it. 

The disciples felt this after Jesus took his last breath on the cross. They felt the earth-shattering experience of hopelessness. That it was all over. What would they do now? But hadn’t Jesus promised them something else? 

What would happen if we remembered what he promised us?  I wonder if hope wouldn’t feel so far away anymore. 

You see, the darkness thought it won. Jesus was taken off the cross and buried deep within a tomb, never to be heard from again, a passing story. A myth. The savior of the world? Ha. Satan 1. Jesus 0.

For three days, the disciples mourned. The religious leaders celebrated. 

But we know that wasn’t the end of the story. 

Because when Jesus stepped out of the tomb and smiled at Mary Magdalene, hope was back. The light had returned. Jesus 1. Satan 0. He beat the darkness. He overcame the grave. He took it all on his back, and brought healing to the world. He brought the hope of salvation, the hope of something more, something better. Something greater than we could ever imagine. 

His resurrection changed everything. 

No longer a passing story, but the savior of the world. The one who promised eternal life for those who believed in him. The one who promised an eternity where there would be no more tears, no more pain. The one who promised an abundant life on this earth. Who promised that the enemy will not win. 

This Jesus, he is our hope. 

When depression weighs you down, sucks you under. When you can barely get out of bed. When you just want to isolate and forget about everything. When you can only see the darkness. Remember Jesus. He got up. 

When anxiety feels paralyzing, when it takes over your mind and you can barely live your life. When fear lies to you. Remember Jesus. He got up. 

When your marriage is in shambles. You don’t talk. You don’t spend time together. You aren’t even sure if you love each other. Remember Jesus. He got up. 

When your family member hurts you. Or you remember a time when they did. And that hurt is so great that it affects nearly every area of your life. Remember Jesus. He got up. 

He got up! And when he did that, everything changed. We are no longer slaves to sin. We are children of God. Depression and anxiety no longer have the final say. Fear bows. Marriages can be restored. Trauma healed. We have unhindered access to the very throne room of grace. We can be with the Father. Finally. 

This hope should be our anchor when the wind and waves toss us around, it should pull us back up to the surface where light outshines the darkness. This hope is our everything. And it is our prayer at Full Life that you would remember this hope this Easter. 

Lord, 

May your light outshine any darkness. 

May your hope anchor. 

May your truth set free. 

May your life, death, and resurrection continue to change everything. 

In Jesus’ Name, 

Amen