Hope Follows Me
I am joining a summit today called #TetheredtoHope because Rev. Dr. Monica Coleman posted about it on Instagram and it turns out one of the hosts writes about pregnancy loss. The name of the summit comes from a desire to be tethered to hope even when we feel mired in grief.
But, for me in my grief, hope became a dirty word. I hoped to get pregnant; when I finally did, I miscarried. Multiple times. I hoped fertility treatments would work, and when one finally did, I ended up miscarrying then too. I hoped my mother-in-law would heal, I hoped the pandemic would end, I hoped for a different job or successful event or an acceptance letter...any of these hopes sound familiar to your experience?
So I have been thinking about hope as I "go" to this summit. One of the most famous scriptural passages about hope is from Romans 5:5: hope does not disappoint us. But I felt like hope disappointed me again and again. How can I encourage others to be tethered to hope in grief when I struggle myself?
Other people had to hope for me. My spouse encouraged me to do another fertility treatment. My family gave us money to help defray costs. Members of infertility groups I am a part of said they would pray for us. All I had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other.
And then this week, I dressed our much wanted child in a onesie I bought before we were ready to even talk about trying. It was pre-owned on eBay and was like fifty cents and was PERFECTION. A yellow onesie with green stars that says Born Feminist. I gave away most of my baby stuff--- maternity clothes, onesies, pregnancy books--- after my second miscarriage. Some my sister rescued and saved for me because she was holding onto hope when I no longer could. But this onesie I had hidden and forgot about until my child was born. This morning I picked it out of his basket full of onesies and put it on him the first time.Yes, I hid this onesie from myself, but I think I always knew in the back of my mind it was in the house somewhere, and I let it stay. Hoping. Maybe not hoping as strongly as the community I surrounded myself with. Maybe not hoping that the baby would be one that I birthed myself, but hoping that one day there would be a child brightening our home and learning about feminism (and God and stuff too). Hoping that my story would not always end in disappointment.
There is another scripture that has been rolling around in my head recently- Psalm 23, the one we read so often at funerals. It doesn’t mention hope. But at the end, the psalmist claims that goodness and mercy will follow him all the days of his life. Through the valley of the shadow of death. When enemies surround. Always. I feel like hope did that to me—- followed me, even when I tried to throw it away.
You might be hoping for a baby who hasn't come--- and not all of us are so lucky to end a journey of infertility and loss with a baby. You might be hoping for a big break in terms of finances or job applications that also might not come to pass. You might be hoping for healing that might not be completed or an end to this dang pandemic next month. But even if we find ourselves disappointed by the dashing of our hoped-for-outcome does not mean that we need to give up on hope. Hope isn't dependent on the outcome being exactly what we wanted. Instead hope is about putting one foot in front of the other, knowing that goodness and mercy are always possible, even on the worst days (see Psalm 23). And knowing that we are not alone. Not alone in our grief, not alone on our life's journey.
So maybe I am more tethered to hope than I realized. Even in the midst of my grief that has continued even after welcoming a living child into our home, I have struggled with disappointment, anger, and bitterness. But still, my community and my faith have connected me to a hope that follows me all the days of my life.
