Who Said Life Wasn’t a Musical?

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The Million Dollar Question of Hope

By Ko nstantin Sutyagin

Over the past few weeks, I’ve heard the same question from diffeent people.

They all asked that universal question that we wrestle with at different stages of our lives:

“What is my purpose?”

This past week, I went on a hike. It was a sunny day with a cold wind blowing across the top of the ridgeline. I climbed down off the crest to a thickly timbered alcove behind a cliff wall. It was a pleasant spot for lunch, bathed in sunshine yet protected from the gusts.

As I munched a PBJ, I noticed dead leaves still clinging to some of the branches alongside new buds. God still had some spring cleaning to do behind these rocks. As a matter of fact, this was such a secluded spot, I wondered why He even bothered to decorate these trees with leaves…nobody would see them.

Whoops! There goes my urban thinking. Unlike the “outdoors” that I’ve designed with my fertilized lawn, and groomed flower beds, this spot wasn’t created to be decorative. And while no one but me might see the leaves that grew here, each one had a purpose. Each one contributed molecules of oxygen to the whole of this area, region, state, planet. Each one became part of something else.

I figure that it’s the same for us. Those of us who knit or crochet may never win any prizes at the county fair. Those who write may not have their name on the spine of a book. Those who cook day after day may never compete on Iron Chef.

What we will do is stitch, blend, and support each other with our seemingly small contributions.  Even if it seems like it’s a worthless job, or a silly hobby, or something that no one will ever notice,our works are part of the whole.

My friend, nearing the end of her life, bedridden and trapped within the walls of the rehab center wondered if she still had a purpose. She didn’t realize that sharing her stories, was a form of leaving signposts for the rest of us. Her struggle with death helped the rest of us put on our “big girl pants” and draw up our courage and say “yes” to things we were afraid to do.  She didn’t realize that she was giving us lessons.

Each one of us becomes part of something else.

God’s Addressbook Includes Hope

My favorite line in Thorton Wilder’s Our Town is delivered by a George Gibbs talking about an address he’d seen on an envelope.

“I never told you about that letter Jane Crofut got from her minister when she was sick.

He wrote Jane a letter and on the envelope the address was like this: It said,

Jane Crofut,

the Crofut Farm,

Grover’s Corners;

Sutton County;

New Hampshire;

United States of America;

continent of North America;

Western Hemisphere;

the Earth;

the Solar System;

The Universe;

the mind of God

– that’s what it said on the envelope. And the postman brought it just the same.” Thornton Wilder – ‘Our Town

Sometimes in the dark of the night, I think I’m the only one not sleeping. And then I remember that I have an address in God’s mind. In this vast universe, He knows right where I am. It makes me smile. It gives me hope.

So when  I receive another piece of bad news, or worries are tightening around my throat,  I sometimes forget to look up.

Good thing the Creator of Everything knows just where to find me.

He’s got my address. and he delivers,  just the same.

(Yes, you star-gazing experts will recognize the picture as Andromeda Galaxy. He’s knows everyone’s address there, too!)

Life in the Basement or Life On the Roof?

Photo by Mumbley Joe

The Good ol’ Basement

I hate to admit that I sometimes find myself in the basement—but I do. Things don’t meet my expectations and I pace  the mental darkness of my emotional cellar. When I’m there, I notice that my favorite activity is to bring others to the basement also. You see, it’s easier to fling words of judgment, criticism, and evaluation than to actually do something.

Then there’s the roof….

Aaaaah….on those days I’m giving a shout out to passers-by, inviting them to stop and talk a while, urging them to come on up, and let their troubles roll off the edges.

I saw some Roof People today. They had their lights shining, signaling others to come on up.

• the gentleman at the gym who looks for the quietest person there and makes sure to say hello.
• the lady who let me go in front of her at the check-out line.
• a hilarious Valentine card from Superman that  says “I’m thinkin’ of ya”

Where there’s Light, There’s Hope

Maybe you have basement days, too. So here’s what I’ve learned:

• Get some rest (weariness is basement bait)
• Eat healthy, be good to yourself  (because you deserve it!)
• Look up. There’s always a  light guiding you to the rooftop—where you’ll be safe.

Let Your Light So Shine Among Men.

Why You Should Look for Lights

One adventursome day, my son and I packed our backpacks and decided that we’d hike the 40 miles around Mt. Hood. We pitched our tents the first night at a beautiful place, Paradise Park, on the shin of the mountain,

The Starseed Lure

When night fell it was even more astounding.  Absolute blackness except for the stars.

We hiked up an adjoining hill and from the peak, we could see the lights of small towns in the distance.  The problem came when we tried to hike back down. We’d bushwhacked our way to the top; there weren’t any trails, and as we worked our way down, the camp wasn’t where we thought it should be.

Fortunately we’d left one small alpine candle lit and hanging at camp. That tiny pinprick of light (which seemed like a beacon to us) guided us back to our tents.

Since then, I always look for lights, and I always try to leave a light burning.

Signs of Hope on the Road to Confusion

Which Way to Go

Before morning breaks into the thin hours of this night, I came to the conclusion that Hope is different than confidence.

Good ol’ confidence is born of success. I remember the first hook I baited all by myself. Then I spit on it for luck and cast it in the pond. I sacrificed several worms before I learned to yank the line after the bobber completely submerged in order to haul a catfish onto the bank.  I became a confident fisher woman, until I took up trout fishing (that’s another story).

Confidence comes in handy when you get behind the wheel of a car after you’ve had a wreck that’s laid you up for several weeks. You ignore the sweaty palms and tell yourself that you can drive because you’ve done it before. And you can do it again.

Confidence comes when you suddenly have to introduce a person, or open your locker at the gym that you haven’t been to  since waaaaay before the holidays. You relax, knowing that the name or combination will come to you. It’s in your brain closet somewhere and you know that if you take a deep breath, it’ll probably roll out on its own.

Hope on the other hand doesn’t need prior experience or success stories.  There are no boundaries or prerequisites.  A girl can hope that the school’s quarterback will ask her out, even if he’s never spoken to her before.  Every writer who sends out a query embeds a piece of their hope in it. Even if they’ve never been published before, they HOPE this is the one that will be accepted. And, I always try to fix my computer by pushing some buttons and then hoping it will work perfectly when I reboot it.

You can see that hope is based on pretty thin stuff.

I think that’s why we look for signs. Little things to grab onto to keep hope alive.  You might study the stock market each day, looking for signs of recovery to support your hope.

When I make a pitch, I look for light bulbs and glowing adoration to shine in an agent’s eyes. (Okay, really, I  just look for a sign that they’re interested.)

When my mother came out of her non-responsive, bed-ridden fog last week, I grabbed onto it as a sign and hoped that she was getting better.

You’re probably a step ahead of me here. Looking for signs is as subjective as trying to figure out if it’s your gut telling you to buy a lottery ticket or divine intervention.

I’m embarassed to admit that it’s taken me a while to see I was basing my hope on the wrong thing. Oh, I receive lots of signs, but they come from faith…not hope.

Faith is the rope that hope hangs onto. You know how they tell you to keep “hangin’ in there.” Well it’s faith that you’re sticking your claws into and holding on as life whips you around.

Faith in God’s ability to care for you. I don’t always see that God cares. I spend a lot of time spiraling off in worst case scenarios before I can get my engine stopped.

That’s where the little signs come in. Out of the blue—a friend calls.  A stranger does a kindness. A sunrise tells me—I’m not alone. Small (or sometimes large) pats on the back, remind me that there is a God who loves me as I am and will take care of me.

It restores my faith. And that give me hope.