A Hope deferred

Hope deferred makes the heart sick.

So I’ve thought long and hard about whether or not to post this because letting people in kind of sucks. The world doesn’t necessarily take the time to read everything – which means that even in our best attempts to be real and open and honest – they remain exactly that, mere “attempts”.

I believe that this generations biggest wound is one of disappointment. There are too many options and none all at the same time. When we try and fail – there is an audience watching too. This means that added to the deep disappointment is a shame, a guilt or a humiliation.

I’ve had a journey over this passed year in which a deep, dark and desolate dream which I had chosen to leave untouched for fear of it failing was reignited. The dream is to study an Undergraduate Certificate in Theological studies at Oxford University. This dream has come closer and closer – with the first step of applying allowing me to be accepted and then a long hard journey and some major fundraising and miracles taking place slowly but surely over the last few months have helped make this dream a reality.

However, from where I now stand – I have pretty much spent all said fundraising money in applying and reapplying for a visa. And then doing it all over again. To still have no visa.

Hurdles keep popping up and all of these glorious open doors that kept opening are now shutting in my face, quite aggressively.

What type of God would essentially give a dog a bone – only to lead it to sinking sand where it will inevitably simultaneously get stuck – and also not get the bone?

Christians can have this faulty mentality that doubting is wrong. Why? Isn’t the bible full of the irreconcilable differences between the character of God and the suffering of man?

I made a choice to make my journey public and unlike social media relationships that end abruptly (once you’re invested) and give zero inclination as to how or why that happened – I need to be honest and transparent in this moment.

This moment is possibly more defining than the beautiful miracle moments when God comes through because this moment is real, it’s sore, it’s confusing and it’s painful. It almost makes my God look like a fool. How did the miracle just end?

So somehow I want to make a case for Him again. But I can’t because I’m so blinded by my hurt. Yet.

The love of friends – this is the hope of glory. The way I have been ruthlessly shouted at by my special friends when I have uttered my giving up – is what has lead to release some anger, fear and bitterness.

This is better than the happy clappy story where it was easy. This is somehow going to be more glorifying to my God even though I have no idea how that is seemingly possible. I doubt his goodness and kindness and heart a bit now – but I don’t doubt his ability or rather capability for doing the impossible (which at this rate would be softening my heart).

The reality is simple: I can still go.
But I don’t know if I am just yet. My problem is that being told that God will make a way for me to go or that he will miraculously open closed doors – is not necessarily false – but it’s not necessarily true either.

What if I don’t go? What if the dream doesn’t happen? Is God then not good ? Were his miracles then malicious?

Doubt your doubts. Is it possible that maybe good can come from this even if it is not exactly how I’d like it to look? Would it still be possible for it to be called good? How about better?

I don’t trust the plan. I didn’t hear a yes or a no. God isn’t absent – just silent. I’m definitely confused – but this hasn’t shaken the dumbfounding hope of purpose. This can’t shake the fact that I know even more than I did in the beginning that I want to be a thoughtful, honest, transparent Christian – because surely, surely, this God is bigger than my pointed fingers against Him.

Surely. For there will always be pain, there will always be fear. With or without God.

I’m going to choose for it to be with Him – despite my own pride. Despite how badly this might turn out for me – hope is the only counter to our generations cries against disappointment.

Imagine for a second – if we all hoped a little more even if it didn’t turn out so well – the freedom to hope and yet fail is what I think I really need. The worst thing about hoping is that we could be wrong. Is that so bad?


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