(This blog is second in a three-part series, "Searching For Hope")I was feeling scattered, distracted tonight. On my way home, I felt moved to go to a favorite thinking spot. It's a bench with a nice view at the local University. I opened my mind, tried to let my thoughts wander to the things I'm worrying about, and listen for the guidance of my Higher Power. A lot of people talk about listening to a soft, still voice. It isn't like that for me. It's more like thoughts that pop into my mind that I didn't think. Ideas occur to me that don't come from me. I try to relax, be passive, let God move my mind, my perceptions, my senses.
I thought about some things I've been irresponsible about this week. Immediately, the words were in my mind: you'll take care of them tomorrow. I thought about my worries about how I'm handling my personal life. Again, I receive wisdom: let go. And as I type about it now, I receive the reminder that I'm not perfect. I am a work in progress. I am learning. Then I think about hope and I choose to make an admission to myself and to God:
I don't really know much about hope. I feel like Hope has let me down too many times, I don't dare to try hoping again about anything.
Do I hope that I will stay sober the rest of my life? No, I work my program one day at a time and try to trust in God to give me what I need. Do I hope that I'll have a family of my own someday, a loving wife, children? Sort of, but it's more of a wish. And again, if that's what happens, then it does. I'm really proud of this current music project, but do I hope that something will happen with it--that it will get picked up by a record label or some other circumstance which will allow me to continue doing what I love? No, I'll do the footwork there, try to be open to opportunities that present themselves, and trust in God to show me what to do next.
The more I think about hope, the less it makes sense to me. I felt so terrible for so long; I certainly know what it feels like to be hopeless. Today, I'm not hopeless anymore. But I'm also not hopeful, either.
Thinking about being hopeful seems to me like wishing, and wishing is something I try to avoid. It’s too easy for me to fall into the unreal. It’s like I don’t want to wish for something because then I’m not living in the real; I’m not accepting what is. I almost feel like wishing is a waste of my energy. Or that I’m failing at acceptance if I do it. I feel the same way about hope.
I may not be hopeless anymore, but I do seem to be without hope. It isn’t as simple as I don’t want to fall into the trap of wishful thinking; though that is something I’m very rigid with myself on. But having hope is different than having a wish. Hope is a feeling. When you have hope, you feel hopeful.
I remember being new to the program, and having hope it could work for me. I remember having hope that life would improve, and it has beyond anything I could have imagined. I haven’t gotten the high-paying job or the fancy car or anything material. What I’ve gotten instead is some inner peace, some genuine love and understanding from others, and a continually surprising, ongoing learning about myself, who I am and what I’m capable of.
This current round of stepwork I’m doing is focused specifically on relationships. It’s been a journey. I remember working the early steps, admitting how terrible I am at relationships--with women especially--and thinking and writing about how this was something I could turn over to God, too. I wrote on the question of whether I believed God could take care of me on this issue. My response? “I hope so.” Yet, it wasn't an optimistic kind of hope. More like desperate.
I see the words I’m writing here, and am a little saddened by them. Hope isn’t supposed to be depressing.
Thinking tonight on how I don’t really know how to hope, or have forgotten, or won’t let myself, or whatever the deal is there, I looked up. I asked for God’s help. I asked him to help me remember how to Hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment