Hope Yet to Come

This past June, a two-story house in our neighborhood was struck by lightning during an overnight thunderstorm. The strike opened a sizeable hole in the roof, and rain poured into the home. This week, I saw the family standing in the street watching as an excavator began tearing down all the remains of their home. The mother had her arm around the daughter, the son was trying to find a more obscure view behind a vehicle, and the father paced the sidewalk watching the scene unfold. 

The sounds were loud as the excavator’s claw grabbed hold of a high point and tore the structure down to the ground. Clashes of wood and scrapes of metal fell into piles, mixed with the damaged belongings that had remained inside the home. 

I was walking my dog when I saw them, and my emotions overcame my peace of mind. I felt their grief, but not because I have been through a similar event. I think it’s because, presently, there seems to be a collective grief among many of us – a collective grief, general anxiety, and individual stories of suffering and hardship. 

Recently, one of my favorite podcasters, when asked how she handles times of grief or suffering, said, “If I am suffering, I know I am at the beginning of something that produces hope.” 

Romans 5:3-5 says, “… We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”

We can be grieving larger-scale things, such as the state of our country, or more personal things, such as the loss of a home or the death of a loved one. We can be suffering through feelings of inadequacy or loneliness, or through a challenging time of parenting a child. But hope awaits. 

I have felt the heavy weight of global, national, and local events over the past couple of months. And underneath, there is also the weight of parenting decisions and parenting conversations when it seems like nothing is working. And underneath still, I have grieved the desire of my middle son to quit baseball. Seems silly to list that, doesn’t it? 

Yet, among this collective grief, I am walking beside a son who has loved and played this sport for nearly ten years now, suddenly shifting gears and wanting to quit and quit quickly without explanation. I am grieving years of seeing the happiness in his eyes and on his face, years of his asking to play more and for resources to play better, and, most of all, I am grieving the joy watching him on the baseball field has brought me time and time again.  

This decision that he is making pales in comparison to some of the events and words swirling around that would evoke more grief and suffering. However, it is a significant change to the way I have parented and participated in life with this boy, and it breaks my heart.

But hope awaits. 

This son is so capable; this son is motivated; and this son is a believer. Because of the word of God given to us, I know that—for both of us—this time is building perseverance, and this time is building character. This time will lead him more into his future, his next passion, and his purpose. And this time will lead me to become more of the mother I strive to be, one filled with compassion and grace, and one who continues to speak of this hope we have in Christ Jesus.