skunks and hope

This will be a short post, even though there is so much to say. I would love to write on and on about this topic, but unfortunately, my time once I get back to school is always more of a commodity than I expect.

But I have been meaning to write for some time on the idea of hope, because it has been haunting me for the past semester and does not show any signs of going away. I am realizing that, while I think of myself as an "upbeat" person, I am not always a hopeful person in the truest sense of the word. I tend to either be naively optimistic, hiding myself from the facts of life that tell me that the world is not, in fact, as it should be; or I finally am forced to face some of the stark realities of a fallen creation, and then I slip into both a depression and a wariness, expecting more bad news around every corner. Neither of these is a way to live, as I have seen more and more. Naive optimism is not only going to disappoint me; it is insulting to those whose pain I am denying, and it also prevents me from seeking opportunities to enter into hurting places and alleviate suffering if I am able. At the same point, depression and wariness deny that Jesus is the King, that He is coming, and that He is good. There are days when surely I doubt that, but I do not want my mode of thinking to regularly deny that. I need hope.

But hope can also be frustrating and raise so many questions: If God is sovereign, does that mean He actually wants bad things to happen? If He is redeeming all things by using suffering to produce good, does that also mean that He inflicts suffering to produce good? If He does not work in the ways I expect, how do I hope with confidence? Can I pray for and expect a good outcome when I know that my definition of "good" may be very different from my Father's? I have some of these answers starting to be formed in my mind, but none of them are crystal clear. I think my most profound realization has simply been that, at some level, it must be mystery. There is some equation out there that makes sense of it all, but in my finite capacities, I cannot hold onto all the components at once to see how the fit together. I simply have to cling to all the pieces I know are true: God is good, He is sovereign, He is redeeming all things, He will come again, He graciously allows but also commands us to participate in His coming kingdom in the meantime, He weeps when His people suffer, He is making all things new.

One phrase has kept returning to me as I struggle with all of this: faith like a child. Jesus praised the little children who ran to be with Him even though they could not possibly have understood all He said in the complexity that the disciples could have (or should have). But I have been trying, over this past month, to come to my Father as a child with all my delights and sorrows. I have probably wept a little more but also laughed a lot more as I considered the beautiful things He has given me. One small example: in New Orleans this past week, there was a lot to be sad about as I saw the brokenness and injustice around me. It made me angry that people don't have homes and that the government seems to in fact be limiting their options. But at the same point, there were more repaired businesses; more people moving into homes; more cars on the road. One small but beautifully encouraging surprise was being reunited with Chuck and Liz, the couple who have somehow "appeared" on every missions trip I've gone on in college, and who have impressed me immensely with their love for the church wherever it is and their desire to serve in their retirement. I know God did not send them down there just for me, but I did receive it as a very personal gift: a reminder that He is with me, orchestrating the details of my life in ways I don't know how and can't control, bringing good (a reunion with friends) out of evil (a city that is so broken and needs so much help). It was also encouraging to see so many people on our trip get excited about New Orleans and possibilities of continuing to serve and love that city.

Then, two days ago, I was back in Charlottesville and babysitting three of my favorite girls. The babysitting gig involved an adventure in a minivan (which I was not expecting!) but after I had finally figured out how to simultaneously drive the minivan and calm the excited/crying girls at the same time, we had a moment of peace and quiet. Then, out of the blue, Caroline called up to me from her back seat, "Sarah, do you think we can play with skunks in Heaven?" I said I thought so and then she clarified, "But will they spray us?" I have recently become very convinced that adults need to take children more seriously, particularly in the way they process things, so I decided not to give her another straightforward and quick answer. Instead, I asked her, "Caroline, do you know why skunks spray?" and she responded, "Yes, because they're afraid." I then asked, "Do you think we'll ever be afraid in Heaven?" and she immediately answered, "No, because Jesus will be there, and we will see Him--not like pretend to see Him, but really see Him!" And then she sighed for a moment contentedly, and concluded, "So I know we'll be able to play with skunks in Heaven--and Jesus will too!" It was obviously amusing, but also such a beautiful illustration of this childlike faith. Caroline will certainly run into much bigger problems than spraying skunks as she grows, but for now she knows the truth: there will be a new heavens and a new earth, where all that is wrong will be right. And she takes delight in that. I want to do so too.