Carrying Hope

I am beginning to understand why my husband wants to name this baby Hope. As I lie awake tonight, waiting for an inkling of movement within my bulging belly, my mind has wandered down the path we've taken since the fire. We are so unhappy here in this temporary dwelling. It is a place which seems almost devoid of hope. The spirits of depression and fear hang heavy over these people and their households.

Our children have been exposed to more in their short months here than in the sum of there lives. Every day they despair over a new cheat, a new lie, a thievery, insults hurled at lightning speed. The children in this neighborhood are insecure with themselves and frightened to be found out and they take it out on one another, lashing out at anyone and anything. We have been encouraged that our children have stood their ground. Occassionally they have faltered when confronted with something so new and confounding as strings of insults or physical blows offered for no apparant reason, but mostly they have learned to state their beliefs, stand their ground and then walk away when the troubles continue.

The children in this neighborhood have contributed a steady flow of material for our daily family devotions. "Mom, why does this one lie? Mom, why does he act like that? Mom, what does *this* word mean? Mom, why do the parents call their children stupid? Mom, they are so mean to Philip, what should we do?" We have had opportunity to discuss prejudice, fear, insecurity, anger, the dangers of the tongue, living as a witness to Jesus Christ in a crying world. We've examined the proverbs and the Gospel. We've traced Satan's desire to squelch the presence of Christ in His children throughout the old and new testaments. JT and Ben have learned how to defend their less witting siblings against verbal attacks which sting them more than they do their unsuspecting brother. I think they've grown a lifetime here through the school of challenges and obstacles.

And woven through the thread of day is the train - constant, loud, a vibrating presence that punctuates the hours. I loved the train when we first moved here. It gave rhythm to our days. Somewhere in the recesses of my soul it reminded me of the trains I had loved as a child - the train by the Old Mill behind Mom's craft shop in PA, the train that ran by the home of my little first grade love whose tracks we would follow to visit his aunt, the train that ran past my grandmother's house and would blow its whistle in the night. But one day Tiffany and Ava got on the train that punctuates our days here and the train did not bring them back. It swallowed them up and spit them on the streets of DC which are now trying to devour them. The train is a symbol now of a lost Hope, a missing link to our little family, a scar of our family's wounding in this place.

And so in all this Hope was conceived. Hope was born into a womb once called barren. Hope was called into being to be loved by us in the midst of a loveless place. And now I sit and wait for Hope to move within me. Honestly, I am a bit concerned that I have not felt what I want to. I will have another sonogram this week which will hopefully dash those fears but if I have learned anything over the past year it is that God does not make promises just because we are good people or devout or devoted. And if, God forbid, we should lose our little Hope before this baby sees the light of this world, people will say all the wrong things. They will say "It was God's will." They will say that we have so much on our plate already and God knew what we could handle. They will say that perhaps this child would have had such serious disabilities that life would have been difficult, if worth living at all. (This one will pierce me the most because it will make me wonder if these same people would have us snuff out life in the womb for the ones we have adopted whose challenges are ugly and difficult.) What they will not see is that God does not kill Hope. There is only one enemy who kills Hope and he is the enemy of all our souls.

Hope is fueled by progress. If only we can see the progress, we can have more hope. This is why I wait to feel this baby move and wonder why I do not have indigestion. Each time we go to our house and see the progress - a wall constructed, a door delivered, a light switch wired - our hope of moving beyond this temporary place grows. There is so much hope in the place we call Home now that we desire to just drag our sleeping bags over there and sleep on the floors just to be in a place where we can feel It, breath It. Were we to go there and see no progress, I am sure our Hope would begin to grow faint and Despair would take its place.

As a family, we have lived our lives on Hope. We are thankful that God has given us vision so that we do not need to perish in despair but can walk in the Hope that His vision will be fulfilled. We can measure progress over a long period of time and see it clearly, rather than looking at each day's challenges individually and wallowing in despair. Vision is the path to Hope for it shows us that Hope is a journey, not a stopping place. It is clear why the scriptures teach us that without vision the people will perish, because without vision there is nothing to Hope for.

And so I carry Hope. I carry Hope like a beacon in body which flashes in the darkness of this time and place and reminds our family of the Vision which always drives us further in and further up. And should the enemy of our souls try to kill this Hope within me, he will not succeed. We are a people of vision, we are a family who Hopes.