Prisoners of Hope

My nieces were taking a bath, dumping water on each others' heads and then telling on each other; filling cups with bubbles and pretending it was lemonade; and just generally taking advantage of the bathroom acoustics by squealing as loudly as possible.

I sat on the toilet seat, flipping through the kids Bible my sister-in-law reads to the girls before bed. It's a big, illustrated Bible that retells the familiar Bible stories in simple kid-fashion. I was mostly looking at the pictures and not really paying much attention to the words (in simple kid-fashion).

Then I turned the page to this.














It's the space between the Old Testament and the New Testament.

400 years pass, to be exact.

Four hundred years.

I sat there and stared at the words for a while. Then I closed the book and finished up bath time with a rousing rendition of "this is the way we wash our hair" (in C major).

A few days later I was reading Zechariah. It's one of the last books in the Old Testament, right before that 400-year space between the Testaments. Those last few books of the OT are nothing but prophecy after prophecy and I admit that sometimes I get bogged down with it all...until they start talking about Jesus.

On this particular day I was reading in Zechariah 9 about Jesus coming to us, "humble and...mounted on a colt, the foal of a donkey," and I was thinking about the scene in Mark 11 when Jesus really does ride in mounted on a colt, when I read Zechariah 9:12.

"Return to your stronghold, O prisoner of hope; today I declare that I will restore to you double."

O prisoner of hope.

My eyes hovered over those words and I read them over and over again. Prisoner of hope. O, prisoner of hope.

I thought about the people of the Bible in the space between the Old and New Testaments. I thought about the long silence of God and how very hopeless it must have felt at times, to feel far from God and to want to hear just one word from Him that would reassure them He is still coming. Just one word to let them know He still sees them. Just one word for them to hold onto, to sustain them, to comfort them.

I know because I've felt like that this year. It hasn't been 400 years but it has been long, and silent, and frustrating. And I have felt that darkening chasm of hopelessness open wide right before my feet so that all I'd have to do is step into it and I would be swallowed.

But I am a prisoner of hope.

I am tied to the promises God has made so that, even when there is silence, I still know He has spoken.

I am tied to what I know of the character of God so that, even when there is silence, I still know who He is.

I don't know why God chose 400 years before He sent Jesus to redeem His people, and I don't know why He chooses to make some of our own seasons of struggle so long. But I do know that even after those 400 years, He still kept His promise. He sent the Messiah. He was faithful.

They were prisoners of hope as they waited for Jesus, and we are prisoners of hope now, because we have Him.

He came as a man and He left us His Spirit. He is with us, and even when there is silence, He is still with us.

I don't know what season you are in right now, and I don't know how long you've been in it or when it will end. But God sees you. He has already come, and He is coming again, and He is with us now. No matter how long it takes, God is always faithful, always good, always true. Hold onto Him. Even in the silence, He is working.

Return to your stronghold, O prisoner of hope; He will restore you.

"Every word of God proves true. He is a shield to those who take refuge in him." - Proverbs 30:5 

"The LORD is faithful in all his words and kind in all his works." - Psalm 145:13

"I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope." - Psalm 130:5 

"Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful." - Hebrews 10:23

Things I've Learned in 2013

How to process events, thoughts, and emotions with the Lord. He knows your heart better than anyone (Psalm 33:15) and is the greatest Counselor and Comforter in helping you work through what needs to be worked through. The greatest peace I have felt this year has come not when I have had answers, but in the lonely moments when I've poured my heart out to a seemingly empty space, only to feel afterward that God has taken all of my spewed-out words, put them in order in His little book, wrapped His big arms around me, and said, "I know; I understand; I see; I've got it; I will help you; trust me."

How to give others the same grace God gives me. God is so faithful to work deeply and gently in our hearts (Ephesians 3:20-21). I've experience this beyond measure this year. And when I am tempted to look at others and ask, "How could they do that?" God reminds me of all the times this year that I have wished to receive grace from others and haven't. He reminds me of how patient He has been with me (and He has been patient, my friends). And He asks me to trust that He will work in their hearts as deeply and gently and patiently as He has worked in mine (Romans 14:4). My only responsibility is to love, too, let Him do what He will in His own time, and allow Him to keep working in me.

How to keep a tender heart amidst loss. This has been one of the hardest lessons of all. Hardening your heart to avoid pain is a much more appealing option. It gives you a sense of control and confidence. I like both of those things! But hardening your heart to avoid pain hardens your heart to be met by God, too. And in being met by God, you are given a deeper, unshakable confidence in the Lord that has nothing to do with control and everything to do with surrender. And the ironic thing? Freedom comes in surrender. (Warning, however: Keeping a tender heart also means you may cry at ridiculous times, like when you see a dead chipmunk on the sidewalk, or when you pass a broken highway sign, or when watching Edward Scissorhands.)

How to find Jesus as my place of safety and protection. I must've repeated Psalm 91:2 hundreds of times over the course of September. "You are my place of safety and protection; you are my God and I trust you." A "place" should be something tangible, like a house or a church or a city; something you can see on a map. But God shows me that He is a place. This supernatural, undefinable place that we can hide in and find rest in and run to (Psalm 32:7, Proverbs 18:10). This place that He actually asks us to set aside all achievements and accomplishments before we enter into. The only place we are defined apart from our successes and failures (Jennie Allen*).

How to be defined apart from my successes and failures. Applying for jobs and going on interviews and writing up countless cover letters is nothing but selling yourself, talking yourself up, and trying to prove you are something and someone and valuable and an asset. But God has used this season of barrenness to show me how valuable I am with nothing. When I present Him with all that I have and ask, "Does this make me somebody?" Desperately hoping He approves of my efforts, because I try so hard, He pushes it all aside, pulls me onto His lap, and says, "I make you somebody. You are mine."

How to let things die with hope. Lots of things have died around me this year. I have battled a lot of hopelessness and fear. I have tried hoping that things will get better. I have tried hoping that people will act a certain way. I have tried hoping that I won't lose one more thing. But hoping in all those things makes my hope a very fragile thing that is easily broken, and I am left reeling in wreckage all over again. So instead, I hope that God will make me new. I hope that God will keep doing a work in me and making me more like Jesus. I hope that God will use what little I have to glorify Himself and build His Kingdom and bring people to Him. And that kind of hope never disappoints, because God is true to all He promises (Romans 5:5, Psalm 119:114), and He makes things new (Romans 12:1-2). You cannot control what dies around you, but you can control how much you allow God to grow within you.

I will still fail and forget and make mistakes. But I am thankful for, beyond thankful for, sometimes breathless at, God's grace, nearness, love, and ever-faithfulness, that picks me up and helps me try again.

So that is what I do.

"Who is to say what is good or bad anymore? Not till heaven will we know. From his eternal perspective, it's tolerable to allow our temporary dreams to fall apart. But we seize more of God when he seizes us through our broken dreams. He is wildly unpredictable, and learning to question and accept his ways is part of the journey of following an unsafe, invisible God. He calls the shots on what happens to us in this short stint here. He calls them, whether we want to let him or not. Our faith must remain greater than our pain and our fears." - Jennie Allen

* Readings throughout this season:
Anything: The Prayer That Unlocked My God and My Soul by Jennie Allen
Victory Over the Darkness by Neil T. Anderson
Enemies of the Heart by Andy Stanley
Until the Day Breaks by Dana Candler

Praise in Pain

To those of you in pain, I've learned something pretty important.

Time does not heal.

Entering another relationship does not heal.

Finding new friends, throwing yourself into work, picking up a new hobby - does not heal.

Perhaps all those things are aids, just as NyQuil doesn't take my cold away, but I hate facing a sick night without the temporary relief it brings.

I am sad and hurting. God, save me and protect me. I will praise God in a song and will honor him by giving thanks. - Psalm 69:29-30 NCV

Praising God in pain does not change the situation, it changes you.

Praising God in pain acknowledges that God is good, God is faithful, God is wise, and God is strong, despite the circumstances.

Praising God in pain professes that you trust Him; it affirms that your hope is in Him and Him alone. And hope in God is the only hope that will never disappoint (Isaiah 49:23).

Praising God in pain reveals a deeper level of gratitude, one that is built on who God is, not on everything that is going right in your life. 

A heart that is grateful is much quicker to heal than a heart that is bitter.

Pure gold put in the fire comes out of it proved pure; genuine faith put through this suffering comes out proved genuine. When Jesus wraps this all up, it’s your faith, not your gold, that God will have on display as evidence of his victory. - 1 Peter 1:6-7 MSG

Soon, but Not Yet

New seasons. Aren't you glad we have them?

Soon it will be autumn. Soon there will be football. Soon there will be pumpkin cupcakes. Soon I will snuggle into bed and wake up in the dark and drink tea while wrapped in an afghan.

But summer has been full: Of days lying beside the pool in warm, easy sunshine; of early morning runs through still-sleeping neighborhoods and just-awoken sprinklers; of homemade fruit smoothies with blackberry seeds stuck in my teeth.

I'm thankful for new seasons. I'm thankful for newness.

The same is true in life. There are seasons, and sometimes I'm very happy to see that the one I am in is ending, and a new one's beginning. Not immediately; perhaps it starts with just a sniff of air that smells more like crisp leaves than mown grass, or a sky that looks a little clearer and colder than rippling and blazing hot.

But these [just] glimpses of newness give me hope to finish out the season I'm in. It's okay that the sweat will still run down my legs, for now, because soon I know I will be wearing sweatshirts and Sketchers and homemade knitted socks.

Soon, but not yet.

In the meantime, let God do what He does in the season that's right for it. Let Him bloom the flowers when it's right for them to bloom. Let Him wither the fig tree when it's right for it to wither. Sometimes He puts you in the fire, but to walk through it in your own strength simply leaves you charred at the end of the day. He doesn't desire charring, but refining; transforming; renewing; always with hope that this season won't last forever, and a new season is coming.

And He gives us seasons because no one knows better what is needed to grow you than the One who created you.

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. "The Lord is my portion," says my soul, "therefore I will hope in him." - Lamentations 3:22-24 ESV