Breathless

{you walk in a room
you look out a window
and something there leaves you breathless
you say to yourself
it's been a while since I felt this
but it feels like it might be hope}

Sara Groves
It Might Be Hope


The wind no longer howls drearily around my building. It instead hums cheerfully and dashes about, flipping my bangs playfully. It revels in the sunlight of this odd winter. My mood reflects the weather sometimes so exactly that I am astonished. Today was beautiful, and to walk out without a drop of rain or muddy puddle to trip into was like breathing a sigh of relief.

My burdens are held by mighty hands.

Recently there have been a great number of people depending on me, sharing deepest hurts and struggles. This is a burden I do not take lightly, but one I feel blessed to share with these beautifully broken people. As blessed as I have felt, a sneaking sadness crept along. Sharing such hurts takes a toll on my heart. Hope is dimmed by these sorrows. But hope comes unexpectedly. One night I rested in bed for two hours before falling asleep listening to worship music and pouring out my troubles and the troubles of my dear friends. I hadn't really given Him any time, hadn't let Him in on my burdens. Foolishly, I admit. I couldn't handle it alone. I was out of breath and out of joy.

That night I felt better, but still not fantastic. Hope was slow to return. Then the next day, after working out, of all things, I came back to my room, and peace fell on my shoulders like veil, gently brushing my shoulders and settling gracefully. I suddenly knew that I would be okay. That my friends would be okay. That God had all in hand and though my eyes were muddied by sorrowful tears, there was still beauty, still hope. I knew there was all along, but it was good to feel it again.

One of my fears is that my joy, my sense of wonder, will someday be so darkened that it will extinguish. My ability to find joy in such small and unnoticed things is one of my favorite qualities of myself. (I can say that without fear of pride because it is one of the very few qualities I appreciate.) My inner child, the youth of my heart, is fragile at times and I could not stand to think of living without such joy. It has taken a beating in the last few weeks, in the last few years, really, but I am not too worried anymore. That joy is God-given, and He has an endless supply. I want to be the character from Martin Chuzzlewhit who wanted to defy everyone and every circumstance by finding something to be "jolly" about. I hope that nothing, no matter how dismal, can stifle or thwart my joy.

Have unconquerable hope. Breathe it. See it. Feel it when you can. Pray.