Outgrowing Hope

Hope (noun): 1. the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best. 2. a person or thing in which expectations are centered (dictionary.com)

Working morning shifts at camp, greeting parents and children as they arrive, I’ve noticed that typically kids don’t come in the door talking about all the bad things happening in their lives or all the bad things that could happen that day.  Instead what I hear is, “I really hope we’re swimming today,” or, “do we get to go to the game room today?” I love hearing, “do you know what??? My cousins are coming tonight from Wisconsin and I get to spend a whole week with them (and etcetera),” and then watching a child spend her whole day in light of that knowledge, that hope.  Everything that transpires that day will be filtered through the lens of the cousins’ imminent arrival. The good events of the day are very good, and the less fortunate events are only small, and possibly necessary, hindrances on her way to seeing her cousins.

I’ve also noticed that the younger the child, the greater her hopes for the day. The kindergarten kids skip into camp spewing optimism, while the 7^th graders (who complain much more frequently than their younger counterparts) seem to make it a goal not to get too excited about anything.  I even find myself gulping down my enthusiasm surrounding the day’s filed trip or art project. I feel embarrassed to let people see my excitement, see what I’m counting on, see what I’ve set my hopes on. I have to be an adult. Hm. How is it that we outgrow hope, outgrow even optimism sometimes? Why does it seem that the older we get, the less we expect out of our days and the less we live in light of the good things to come? We commence our Mondays looking forward, basically, to Friday. We work, we leave, we get paid. I don’t know about you, but I’m just not satisfied with that.

I think that we might just be wired to hope. Without hope to drive and comfort us, we at best live mundane and muted lives. At worst we experience deep depression.

And maybe you’re thinking right now that you don’t have a lot to look forward to. Maybe your life is just sort of boring. 1) I’m not buying it. I’m guessing you probably just need to find things to hope in and/or get brave enough to actually let yourself hope. 2) If you’re a Christ-follower, you’re really without excuse for living plainly and hopelessly. We have a certain hope.  We have the Hope. Remember Hebrews 6:19-20?

19 We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, 20 where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priestforever, in the order of Melchizedek. 

And Romans 5:1-5?

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, 2 through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand.And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. 3 Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings,because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4 perseverance, character; and character, hope. 5 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.

 So, no big deal, we just have access to the throne of God through faith in Jesus’s sacrifice and have the Holy Spirit living within us. I think that calls for some wild hope, some lovely and joyous childlike hope.

P.S. When my mind is too crowded and noisy with my grown-up worries to hear hope’s quiet refrain, one of my favorite verses to turn to is Psalm 42:11. “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.”   

No, Love

Today while watching a riveting little film called Beverly Hills Chihuahuas 2 (that’s right everyone, get to your Netflix account right now.  This is a quality movie.) with the whole of the camp squad, my little buddy-let’s call him Casey (for safety’s sake)-snuck up on me.  He gave me a customary hug, wrapping his arms around my legs.  Then he stood on his tiptoes and threw his head back and declared brazenly, “I love you.” 

Let me back up a bit: This is not unusual for Casey.  Last year, his first year at camp, Casey and I bonded.  He was having trouble adjusting to life with forty children and his introvert flag was flying high. Being an introvert myself, I picked up what he was putting down. I got him. I spoke his language to him. And then we were friends. Casey took my hand every chance he saw.  He would crawl through an entire hoard of crisscross-applesauce kids to find my lap. I comforted him when he cried and was gentle but firm with him when he misbehaved.  He noticed everything about me it seemed, from the fading bruises on my arms to the slightly prickly hair on my legs.  He regularly told me that he loved me. We were pals. We undeniably had ups and downs, but leaving him at the end of the summer was sad.  Needless to say, I am elated that he is back at camp and is much more adjusted to the atmosphere here.

Okay where was I?  Right. So Casey told me, “I love you.” What do you think I said back to this little guy?  I said, “Aw I like you too, buddy.”  He replied, taking my hand, “No, love.”  Ouch. Ow. Somehow, standing right there in the middle of a group of campers entranced by an oversized litter of rat-dogs dressed in tutus, I was cut.  Casey’s response had instantly convicted me.  Why had I said that?  Why had I used the word like? He had said that he loved me.  Even a kindergartner knows that like and love are not the same.  It was too late for me to edit my response however: Casey had already scampered back to his seat on the floor. 

The more I thought about it the more I wished I had responded differently. Why couldn’t I have just told him that I love him too?  I do, don’t I?  Yes. Unquestionably.  I would do anything for that kid.  So why couldn’t I have just told him that?  

FEAR.

Ohmygosh I am afraid of everything.  Even the most beautiful pieces of human existence.  I was afraid to tell Casey that I love him for a few reasons, one of these being that I was unsure whether responding with an "I love you too" could be considered "inappropriate."  More deep-seated was a fear of growing attached to Casey to the point that I might miss him when I leave. I wanted to keep my distance while Casey wanted unconditional affirmation.  I was afraid of expressing my love because I didn't know if it was the "correct" thing to say.

But how silly is this?  It’s silly!  This is what we are made for, is it not? To feel deeply toward another human being, to the point of selflessness?  Our love for others should not be limited by any kind of fear; we ought to love boldly, maybe like Casey, definitely like Christ.  1 John 4:11-18 says, 

11 Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. 12 No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.

13 This is how we know that we live in him and he in us: He has given us of his Spirit. 14 And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. 15 If anyone acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God, God lives in them and they in God. 16 And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. 17 This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment: In this world we are like Jesus. 18 There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.

The measure of audacity with which we love reveals the extent to which we know the love of the Father.  And when we're unsure of our capacity to love like this, we can draw confidence from passages like Romans  8:15-17.

15 The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.” 16 The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. 17 Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.

If we truly have life through the Spirit, as Romans 8 describes, then we can be confident in our capacity, through the Holy Spirit within us, to love fearlessly, to do what we were made to do.

I recognize that this story about Casey's expression of love is not the most dramatic or the most perfect example of what Christ's love looks like practically.  But that's not why I'm sharing it. I'm sharing it because this experience unexpectedly exposed my hesitation-nope, fear-to love as Christ loves.
So what am I going to do about it?  Basically not fear. For starters, you can bet that the next time Casey reminds me that he loves me, I'll reply, "I love you too."