hope

(picture by andrewsartworks.com)

Hope is what keeps me going. Hope is why I can face today, and tomorrow.

It's interesting how you can find hope at the most amazing times. Times of grief and great pain, even times of tragedy and loss. The day before Easter always brings back the memory of how I first discovered I have hope.

It was the day before Easter when I was about 15 years old and my Mom, my Grandma and I had just spent a very fun-filled day of shopping and planning together. There was lots of laughter that day and talk of our plans for the future. You see, like it should be for all children, my Grandma was the one person who treated me like a child. She spoiled me a bit (of course!) but she LOVED me...and demonstrated that love like only a good Grandma can!

Shortly after Grandma headed out to the bus stop to go back to her home (we were a poor family, lived in low-income housing apartments, no cars yet) we started hearing sirens...loud sirens. They sounded like they were stopping right outside our apartment. In fact they were. The ambulance and police were stopping right outside our back door -- because it was Grandma. Much to our horror we learned that she had been hit by a car, killed by a hit-and-run driver. Just like that.

I can't really describe the onslaught of emotions and pain that gripped me at the moment I saw my Grandma lying on the wet grass, body crushed, dead. Seeing someone you love in that condition can be like having someone mercilessly grab your insides and pull them outside...it's excruciating. If you've experienced it, you know what I mean.

"So where does the hope come in?" you might be wondering. Immediately I was surrounded by neighbors, all different cultures lived in those apartments. They were all very sympathetic and tried to comfort us, but that didn't help. I ran to my friend's house, they were a Mexican family whose kids I went to school with. I cried with their whole family, and truly they were the most comforting, reassuring people -- but that didn't help either. I went home and cleaned the whole house from top to bottom, exhausting my body, but that didn't help either.

Then finally I went into my room. It was dark and quiet. I fell on my knees, and I wept. But I didn't feel alone. I felt the comfort of His presence. As I poured out my heart (including anger and frustration) to Him, I felt Him there with me and finally got the comfort I knew I had been desperately seeking.

And that's when I knew I had, and still have, hope. Without Easter there is no hope. It's because He lives, because He rose again on the third day, that I hope. Do you have hope?