Saturday, January 7, 2012

hoping for Hope.

Sometime between Christmas and New Year`s  I was reading my bible and I prayed, Lord, please just give me a little Hope.  I opened the bible randomly a couple of times, hoping that He would have a passage just right for me...He didn`t.  I gave up and just went to my bookmark in Romans.  These are the words the Lord gave to me.

And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character; hope. (Romans 5:3&4)

He had the words just waiting for me.  I`m not sure how to glory in this tribulation.

I am not the same person I was before August 15th 2011.  I am more compassionate and less compassionate.  My tears flow more freely than they ever have before, for others and for myself. I often vascillate between where I am now and how my life journey is turning out to be so much different than I ever anticipated and how I so miss those innocent, hopeful days when all my children were alive. I miss my daughter so excruciatingly and only God knows where this will lead me...I dare not hope for Hope...yet I do because hope does not dissapoint because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us (Romans 5:5)  Meanwhile, I leave you with the words of someone much more talented than I and with the longing and hope of seeing my daughter again.

Resignationfrom The Seaside and the Fireside
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe’er defended,
But has one vacant chair!

The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted!

Let us be patient!  These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
May be heaven’s distant lamps.

There is no Death!  What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.

She is not dead,–the child of our affection,–
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.

In that great cloister’s stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin’s pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.

Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child;

But a fair maiden, in her Father’s mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;
And beautiful with all the soul’s expansion
Shall we behold her face.

And though at times impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
That cannot be at rest,–

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.

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