Hope Elusive

My mission in writing is to provide hope to the parents of kiddos who have special needs and experienced trauma. Our kiddos with special needs have come to us through adoption, and many of our children have experienced the trauma that comes with needing to be adopted. I never want my audience to think, however, that I live in a constant state of hope. 

Hope is elusive, even when we serve an incredible God. I don't want my hope to be wrapped up in my emotions or how our day is going at that very moment, but as a person who feels deeply, my hope often ebbs and flows with the emotional pulse of our home. I proclaim hope because I believe that at the end of our stories, when we step back from the mess and difficulty that seemingly dictated our days, we will find that every gritty moment was exceptionally worth it. 

But it takes much strength, wisdom and perseverance to keep holding on when it may not feel worth it now. Our calling to our children is not based on the ease of our days, but the beauty of the God we serve, and the joy that comes in pointing them to him.

So yes I proclaim hope, and yes I try to live in that hope everyday, but I fall hard, and forget often, and wish that we saw tangible signs that what we were doing mattered. Instead, we go to bed angry and a little more worn. We thought our life would look one way, and yet it looks radically different. The petals on our flower have fallen off, or grew in misshapen, but hope is realizing that that flower - that's a little sad and far from symmetrical - is still beautiful.

From now on I'm going to collect wildflowers with missing petals and droopy leaves. The world's perfect picture of a daisy is not the standard we hold to anymore in this house. It may have once been, but radical, cross-centered hope gives me the eyes to see that the mangled daisies I photographed today, should be my new standard of beauty.