Leaning upon the smudged glass, I stared up at the endless night sky, looking for a sparkle of light. Whenever I do not want to face the world, I open my window, and find solace in the cool hush of the evening. While my eyes scanned the night for a star, I searched within for a reason to continue. More than a picturesque view, I needed hope.
One by one, stars appeared and lit the darkness. I looked over to the soft glow of the moon, reflecting the sun whose presence may be hidden, but is never lost. The pale lights reflected what I knew deep inside, but often forgot.
Hope is not seen as clearly as the sun on an early morning. Hope is more like the stars on a dark night, subtle flickers reflecting an ever-present source of hope. Just as the moon reflects the ever-present sun, so God infuses each part of our lives with hope, even in the darkest moments.
My thoughts wandered to the empty spaces of my life, the hurt, the confusion, the numbness; and how I had wrapped myself in these feelings, making a home within the hopelessness. Naomi in Scripture understood such a response. The loss of her husband and sons left her hurt and resentful, and that resentment began to invade every part of her being.
She not only lost her family, she lost her identity; she lost her hope. Instead of filling the vast expanse between herself and the darkness of her feelings, she renamed herself Mara, letting sorrow steal who she was.
Ruth walked through the same expanse, but choosing to stand apart from her feelings, she looked up. She saw the stars, and with an open heart, embraced a hope that could only come from above. She was more than a broken widow or a lost foreigner; she was a daughter of the Most High.
I want what Ruth had. A purpose, a name beyond my hurt. I want to choose hope, and lean in, even when I feel hopeless. The dawn will come, either here or in glory, but for now, there are stars. Yes, there is hope.
There is always hope.