That Thing With Feathers

When I was in the ninth grade, I read “The Great Gatsby” by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

The truth is, I remember very few of the details of the story, but I do vividly recall the way my teacher explained to us how amazing this book was, and how we would get some major "life lessons" out of it if only we would try and listen.

When my friends didn’t want to be my friends, I read.

When my first boyfriend broke up with me, I read.

When the phone rang in the middle of the night with words I never wanted to hear, I read.

There has always been a solace in words that I cannot often find in the rest of the world. I love the way the book binding creases with years of love and the smell of bookstores with books that seem to call my name.

I remember hearing this little poem by Emily Dickinson in that 9th grade English class, but I recently saw it again. And it got me thinking about my own life.

In one of her earlier writings, Emily wrote an essay on life that contained the following poem:

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

Maybe you noticed what I did when you read that: It’s not always easy to trust in something that has wings.

Who is to say it will stay?

I have always said things like, "I hope I get a job after graduation," or "I really hope I can stay in the top 10% in my class." Sometimes I "hope" the weather will change, or that I can find a good deal on the newest season of Grey's Anatomy or the newest movie release. It's fleeting; it's possible, but I'm not counting on it.

I really hoped I would never have to experience the heartache of a failed relationship or lose someone I love to cancer.

But I don’t.

And what does that say about hope? That it took flight? Found a new perch somewhere in the unreachable sky?

The Lord doesn’t define hope the way that we do, and His definition is crucial for every one of us as we walk through this life. I am sure that as you are reading these words, you can think of a place in your life where you feel hope is lost.

The Greek word for hope (as I've mentioned before) is "elpizo," and my favorite definition reads "to wait for salvation with joy and full confidence"

So, really, it isn’t about wanting some certain outcome or even longing for the desire of your heart.

It’s about waiting.

With joy.

With confidence.

And so today I sit, fingers tapping a keyboard, dogs chewing bones and barking incessantly outside for seemingly no reason at all, a Monday looming right around the corner.

I wait.

Have you ever noticed that there is really no point in hope in the absence of despair? I certainly have. And let me tell ya, it wasn't an easy lesson.

I have decided to sit and wait in sorrow, in joy, in fear, in heartbreak. I will sit and wait for Jesus to do HIS will in my life (It's better than our wildest expectations!). And I will try so hard to be patient.

I will believe in the thing with feathers. I will wipe the tears away with the hand of trust and will be confident in what awaits me.

In my darkest hours, I've had to believe in this thing called hope. The alternative was just too hard. It's been my strong and steady mother who has held me up and prayed prayers for me that were overflowing with hope, feathers and all. When I had no hope, she had more than enough. When I felt like I just couldn't do it, she sent a text at the right time, and she prayed me through those tough times.

Hopefully, arm in arm, we will continue to hear the song together and be reminded that it was written for us.

And we will know the truth about hope: It never stops singing.

Speak, Lord. Your servants are listening...