Hope > Weariness

So lift your voice just one more time

If there’s any hope may it be a sign

That everything was made to shine

Despite what you can see

So take this bread and drink this wine

And hide your spirit within the vine

Where all things will work by a good design

For those who will believe

Josh Garrels, Beyond the Blue

For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
The Apostle Paul, Romans 8: 22-15

It’s March 20th, the first day of spring. A new season, winter is over. Flowers will soon be in full bloom, the trees will awaken from their long hibernation. The days will continue to lengthen, letting the sun shine longer shadows into the evenings. Around the Pacific Northwest, people will dust off canoes and bicycles and hiking shoes. Folks will switch hot lattes and mochas for iced coffees. Sunglass sales will go up, as our Washington eyes are still used to grey and rainy days. Thoughts go to sprucing up decks and balconies and porches, and spring-cleaning the inside of homes. Exercise routines will move from gyms and in front of TVs to outdoors at last, warmer and less wet weather beckoning us to tracks and parks and hiking trails. 

Bringing spring inside! 

Today I’m home with fibromyalgia. Full of deep aches and insidious fatigue, I’m laying on the couch in my two favorite blankets, in long grey yoga pants and my ancient black fleece jacket with the replaced zipper. The rain has been beating against all the windows today, heavy wind blowing down the stove vent. I’ve already taken one nap, and in contemplation of another. I found some leftovers in the fridge for lunch, thankfully, which I ate while watching an episode of Poirot. I’m surrounded by empty water glasses and half-eaten bags of trail mix and half-read books. 

All this to say I’m not feeling my most springy or full of ready-to-bloom potential. Still exhausted by a recent colonoscopy, I’m now staring down an exploratory laparoscopy in a couple of weeks, to hopefully diagnose endometriosis. The last month has been full of preparations and paperwork and calling doctor’s offices and appointments and talking to supervisors and insomnia. Not to mention fighting a horrendous cold and viral infection. Even though I’m not ready to hit the trails or plant a garden, I’m very much looking forward to a changing of seasons, both outside and in all these physical circumstances. I’m praying in desperation that all the seeds planted in wild hope in the last month will come to some kind of fruition, that all the preparation and plans will provide answers and action to take. I’m ready for spring in this body. 

I’m ready to wake up in the morning and not feel pain everywhere. I’m ready to hop in the shower and get ready for the day without needing a rest afterwards. I want to be able to go on a hike or walk on a rocky beach in this beautiful part of the world on weekends, without having to think twice. I want to say yes to social invitations without having taking stock of my physical abilities. I’m ready to have activities in the evenings after work once in a while without needing every single one to rest. I’m so ready to say goodbye to brainless distractions and pursue true leisure, like reading more and writing and being creative in the kitchen or with paper and charcoal. I’m looking forward to feeling my age, and not like a 90 year old trapped in this body. 

For now, it’s still the middle of a long winter for these bones. For now, I do what I can. I take steps towards feeling well. I rest when I have to. Ben and I make our home beautiful and inviting and easy to relax in. Every doctor’s visit, every call to my insurance company, every salad and smoothie I consume, every nap I take, every gentle stretch and walk, every time I say yes to seeing friends and family, is an act of radical hope and faith. And this all is truly enough while I wait. I am hanging on to hope that while this is a truly tiring and confusing season, it is only a season. Seasons change and ebb and flow. Flowers blossom and trees turn green only after winter’s cold months. Let’s hang on to hope together. While we face life with all its curves and setbacks, let’s look forward to all the good things that are waiting.