The room to the left at the top of the stairs was supposed to be the nursery. As soon as I saw the small square room, filled with natural light, I pictured my baby in my arms, singing him or her to sleep. I was a few weeks pregnant when my husband and I purchased our small cape-cod style home. Four years and four miscarriages later, my arms and the room remained empty. Over time, a small IKEA writing desk found it’s way into the space. We told ourselves it was temporary. The room provided a quiet place to work and extra storage for winter coats, but we never stopped calling that room, “the nursery.”
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Admittedly, my relationship with hope was complicated. On most days, it felt like an avenue of disappointment. I questioned the purpose of hope. It felt too vulnerable to ask for something I wanted so badly, not knowing if the answer would be yes or no. If I expected nothing, how could I be disappointed? Yet, against the evidence of our circumstances, my heart still leaned toward hope. I was drawn to the possibility of what God could do in my life. Though my arms were empty, they were somehow, still full of hope.
Hope that trusts the steadfast character of God over changing circumstances
I prayed every day for my circumstances to change—that one day, I would get to hold a baby in my arms. I believe it is a good thing to make our requests known to God. But I realized over time, that I was interacting with God as if He were merely the facilitator to my agenda or the power source for my plans. I was focused on what God could do for me instead of what He was doing in me. Often, we ask God for a way out. But regardless of the outcome, trusting God’s steadfast character offers us a way through our pain, giving us a reason to hope.
