Displaying items by tag: hope

by Jennifer Wright

What is the most full of hope you have ever been?

I don’t know about you, but for me, it’s been parenthood. Nothing has given me a feeling of expectation and desire for good than becoming a mother. From the very first positive pregnancy test—and even before as I hoped and prayed for a child—I found more hope for my life, my child’s life, my child’s future, and the future of our world, than ever before.

That may not be everyone’s experience (for many who enter a pregnancy center, fear overcomes any hope, at least at first), but it does give me a new outlook on the Advent story.

The story of Mary and Joseph preparing for the coming of Jesus and all that came with it was certainly full of fears, but also hope.

While Mary certainly asked how this could happen, she gave her admirable answer: Let it be done to me according to your word (Luke 1:38)—and joyfully went to celebrate with her cousin and prepared for her child’s birth. On the other hand, Joseph’s reaction was something that those of us in pregnancy help might be more familiar with, confusion and uncertainty. Joseph needed an angel of the Lord coming to him in a dream to be convinced that it was right to stand by her (Matthew 1:20).

I wonder what it was like to have hope not only for this one child and this one family but hope for all of mankind because of this one child. And I wonder what it was like to feel that hope while looking for a place to stay in Bethlehem, knowing that the time for their son's birth was coming soon.

Mary and Joseph saw the hope of their child’s arrival on the faces of shepherds and wise men who came to see this precious little child.

For others, it is different. The hope that comes with a child is hard to see when you’re facing addiction, rape, domestic violence, or simply a pregnancy that wasn’t part of the plan. You speak that hope into the lives of parents every day when you offer real solutions to the obstacles that can make a pregnancy feel like a crisis.

Just like the angels who came to Mary and Joseph, you help them see the hope that comes with new life.

My two precious children, Maria (named in part for Mary, Queen of Apostles) and Christopher (literally 'Christ-bearer'), are the hope for me and my family every day. (And yes, I know I have a naming theme.) We waited, prayed, and yes, hoped for them. Now, I have hope for the lives they will live—from school to work to families they will lead. They are sparks of joy for my parents and grandparents. They inspire their aunts and uncles—sometimes even giving them hope for a better future. My kids, now just 3 and 1.5, offer grounds for believing that something good can happen, and that tomorrow will be better than today.

My biggest hope is that they will live up to their names and help bring Christ to the world because it is His coming that offers hope for us all:

Hope that there is something more than this broken world.

Hope that we will experience eternal life.

Hope that love, truth, beauty, and goodness prevail.

by Jay Hobbs, Communications and Marketing Director

You’d be hard-pressed to wordsmith a more hopeless turn of phrase than what we find in Isaiah 8:20—especially if you’ve ever endured a sleepless night, searching the horizon for the first sign of sunlight.

In his indictment of the self-righteous Southern Kingdom of Israel, the prophet Isaiah charges that, rather than hearing the word of God and listening to it, the nation’s leaders and teachers had shrunk back in embarrassment from God’s truth.

“To the teaching and to the testimony!” calls Isaiah, with the fervor of a battle-tested general. “If they will not speak according to this word, it is because they have no dawn.”

And there’s the hammer: “They have no dawn.”

What could be more hopeless than an endless night, with no hope that the sun will ever shed its glorious rays? Like nothing else on earth, sunlight dispels the gloom of night, giving life and vitality to what was—just moments before—cloaked in mystery and doubt.

And at that moment in history, Israel’s dawnless night was about to get far worse. Soon, all of the Northern Kingdom would be occupied by Assyria while the Southern Kingdom would be led off into 70 years of Babylonian captivity, only to return to a land laid bare in their two generations of expulsion.

Called and beloved as the people of God—His own vessel for shedding the light of His glory to the surrounding nations—Israel was plunged into “distress and darkness, the gloom of anguish,” Isaiah says to conclude chapter 8.

A darkness with no dawn. Sounds almost too bad to be true, until you realize that it’s not just a people in some far off land who walked through this night. It’s all of us, wandering hopelessly through the darkness.

It’s a darkness written all over the faces of the women we serve every day. A darkness that’s often intensified by a lifetime of broken promises and emotional abandonment has now come to another point of darkness.

To her, it’s a darkness without any hope of a dawn.

Kind of makes you want to light that first Advent candle—the “Hope” candle—and sing a Christmas carol, doesn’t it?

Amazingly, that’s just what Isaiah does. In the very next verse, he delivers a message from the Lord that, against this grim backdrop: “There will be no gloom for her who was in anguish” (Isaiah 9:1).

Instead of gloom, shame and devastation, God would bring about a glorious change that wouldn’t just heal Israel, but would extend God’s love and favor to those of “every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages” (Rev. 7:9).

Against the deepest darkness of a dawnless night, and into “a land of deep darkness,” God was going to one day bring light: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Isaiah 9:2).

Of course, looking ahead 700 years from Isaiah’s word, Jesus himself—“The true light, which gives light to everyone.” (John 1:9)—would fulfill this prophecy. Against all odds and amid the wreckage of abandoned hope, God shed His light onto a darkened world.

This Christmas season, we remember that the hope of light has come into our darkened world. And that light’s name is Jesus.

May our hearts be enlightened by His Advent, and may God shine His light on every woman, every man and every child we seek to serve this season.