About Hope

I tend to remember everything.  More specifically, I remember almost every conversation, especially minor ones, that I have with people.  As of late I have learned not to bring up old conversations, because the speaker usually doesn’t remember saying the things that I remember.  But I digress.  

I once had a conversation with a good friend of mine, Aaron.  I was 2.5 years ago, and my mind was still pretty messed up.  I wasn’t sure how long I would be metaphorically “sticking around” then, but I had a little bit of a grasp of what I would do if I got through my ish.  I had an answer for everything, even in my brokenness.  I was pushing people away in a successful manner.  Throughout our conversation Aaron noticed something.  He then asked me where my hope was.  I had no answer.  I had no answer, because I had no hope.  Even though I was in Bible college, doing my best to follow a God who I felt was betraying me, I had no hope.  My hope was not in God, even though I desperately wanted it to be.  

Fast forward a few years to where I am right now.  For church on Sunday we made s’mores and had community time.  We separated into groups around the four separate campfires and we told God stories.  I had on my heart a need to share where I had been and how I got to where I am now.  I talked about how I had always had a plan, and now that I have no plan I am more content than I have been in a while.  My sharing sparked an ongoing conversation, and some prayer and some vulnerability.  One of my roommates, Gus, went on to point something out to me.  He said that it seemed that for a long time I have had no hope in my life.  When I had a plan, I had no hope.  But now, he said, I have an evident hope.  Even though I have no idea what my life holds, I have hope.  

So maybe when I have plans, I put my hope in them.  If I have learned anything in my life though, it’s that if I don’t get my hopes up, they can’t be let down.  Now that I have no plan, I cannot be let down.  My hope is in God’s plan, and not knowing what it is makes life a little bit more of an adventure.  And I want to be in love with adventure.

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People Care (Why Not Have An Intervention?)

A couple of things, but first: I have another blog.  It’s only temporary, and it’s for a class, but if you’re interested, you can find it here.  It’s about the tv show Mad Men and the culture of the society within the show and how that applies to ministry.  It’s for my ministry and culture class.  I can’t promise that it’s good, but if you’re interested, it’s there.

But that is not what this blog is about.  I want to talk about people who care.  Why this sudden prompting?  Well, the beloved Dean of Students at my school, JJ Peterson had his last day on Friday, because he is moving on to do some other things in his career and ministry.  This makes me sad.  JJ is my friend.  He is also one of the reasons I love my school and have survived the last couple of years.  JJ was one of the staff that showed me that my school cares for its students.

My sophomore year here, at Life Pacific College, was not a good year.  I was hit with crippling depression.  I was having a mental break down.  I wanted to die.  And JJ noticed this.  He reached out to me.  He talked to me and let me know that he understood.  People don’t always understand.  And so it was a sad farewell.  As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that all of the staff that were there for me, that showed me they cared, and that gave me friendship… well they’re all gone now.  All but one.  And soon I’ll be gone too.

Thinking about this brings me to another thought.  Are interventions Biblical?  If someone is making harmful decisions for their life, I know that it is American to let them make their decisions and let their lives fall apart.  But what if these decisions are not only hurting them?  Should we stand here and watch their life slowly unravel.  I know that JJ and the rest didn’t do that in my situation, so should I be doing it for someone else?
I wonder why we sit around and talk about someone, because we know that what we say won’t change anything.  I wonder why we’ve stopped trying.  What if we had an intervention?  I thought friends were family.

 

It sucks when songs suddenly mean something else.