“What is the appropriate amount of hope?” Ew. What a sad little question. How calculating! How mature-in-the-worst-way!
Somehow, I grew up and learned to cower in obedience to the great and terrible Disappointment. As if feeling disappointed were the worst thing that could happen to me. Am I the only one who operates this way? Preparing for the worst in every situation, just in case.
If there was an appropriate amount of hope to quantify, it wouldn’t be hope, it would be expectation. It would be reliable and gritty and tangible. It would require no faith or trust.
There is no appropriate amount of hope, because hope is inappropriate.
When you consider everything, hope is not suitable or proper. It makes no sense, in this world. Therein lies its difficulty and its power: that it is so much less convenient than despair. Hope, as with all good things, is something I need to choose over Fear.
It is a choice that springs forth from a heart that growls fiercely that it will not bow to fear or disappointment or despair. A heart that, scarred and pressed from every side, clings to the belief that after all, in spite of it all, despite it all…God is always good and I am always loved.
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