For months now I have felt the cynicism growing, cutting its teeth on disillusionment and sharpening them on disappointment. I am finding that some things are not what I thought they were and others that are not what I thought they would be. I still have more questions than I do answers and some days it’s hard to believe that this isn’t going to last forever.
Hope is not always an easy thing to come by.
I pulled the window shade most of the way down, leaned back into my seat, and closed my eyes. This was only the fourth time I’d made this trip since August but somehow it felt like more than that. This time I was heading home for a few days for Easter. Then it was back to Nashville for one more week.
The warm tears slipping down my face told of how weary I was. They honored how hard the transition had been and the long road ahead. They asked the questions and refused to reach for easy answers. What they reached for instead was a shred of hope.
I slid the window shade up again to watch the setting sun and Derek Webb sang in my headphones,
One day you’ll wake and the curse will break and even you won’t be the same
Your hope is not wasted on the day when everything will change.
-Derek Webb, Everything Will Change
Pink light reflected off the clouds. They were thick but we were flying above them and we were free. Free to hope.
The plane descended through the cotton of the clouds and I twisted around in my seat to watch the last rays of sun before they disappeared. The world above us was bathed in color and light but below it was grey.
Suddenly the world was heavy again. There were the same questions, the same fears, the same weariness that there had been before I’d climbed into the sky.
But now I was home. For the fourth time this year I walked off that shuttle toward baggage claim and saw my mamma waiting for me on the other side of security. She squeezed me tight and I knew that for the moment I could leave the heaviness behind.
Sunday morning dawned dark and drizzly. It didn’t really feel like Easter should. The world didn’t look like resurrection. It looked like it was still Saturday, still waiting for hope to appear. Cynicism cackled her harsh refrain. “I told you things wouldn’t get any better,” she seemed to say.
But somewhere, somehow, hope. Easter. Resurrection. A hope that says that cynicism doesn’t get the final word. Saturday will end. Sunday will dawn. Already I feel the weight of it deep in my bones. He is risen. Thanks be to God.
For more good things, I love both of these pieces: