Hope

  Years ago, girls were expected to spend their growing up years preparing for the day when they would marry and run their own home. They collected linens, dishes, silver, and china. Heirlooms, such as wedding and christening gowns, jewelry, and knick-knacks, were placed carefully inside. As a girl packed her chest, she was packaging her hopes and dreams.

     Although this tradition is rarely in style today, I had a hope "chest." (Quotation marks because the actual chest that my parents gave me when I was 16 never came out of the box. I stored my things in a Rubbermaid tub. Oh well.) I didn't have much in it, mostly a few kitchen things, a few house things, oh yeah, and a punch bowl that I really don't know the location of right now. (I probably left it at home...) Antiquated idea or not, in-style or faux pas, it was a great idea. That collection saved me a lot of worry when I moved. I strongly recommend it. Proving the value of a hope chest, however, is not my purpose today.

 
    My purpose is really to ramble a bit about my hopes. You see, there was something I had packed away that I can't use now. I thought about it this evening while running through ideas to make some extra "fun money." Selling it came to mind. I even looked online to see how much people were selling similar items for.

     After my research, I went to my closet. I flipped on the light and plopped on the floor. As soon as I was comfortable, I reached for the middle drawer of my storage stack, and pulled out the item. It only took a split second of look at it to know that I could never part with it.

     I made it in college. I started it my freshman year. I don't remember how long it took to finish, but between work and classes, I'm pretty sure it was over a year. Each stitch was made with care for the unknown recipient of this most special gift. The cliche "handmade with love" was such an understatement. Now, here it was, stuffed in a drawer in a closet. Will I ever use it? I asked myself.

     Do you every find you have your best conversations with God in the most odd places? Or is that just a me thing? As I studied this creation, I began to talk to my Lord about my dreams. Dreams that would start, I used to think, after I finished High School. (I thank God that my time is not His time!) Dreams that I sometimes feel are as empty as the dreams I have while I'm sleeping.

     It wasn't a whiny "I want" prayer, nor a desperate "I need." It was, "I dream." Short and simple, but heartfelt. Now I have had my whiny and desperate moments. Moments of "I am pouring out my heart and soul every day to children desperate for love and attention. Children who get up in the morning, are immediately dropped of at school, and left until 5-6pm every day. I teach them, train them, feed them, read to them, patch them....even on the days when I want to change my name to avoid hearing "Miss Wilson!" ever again. Then I go home to an empty house." That was a whiny moment. A desperate moment sounds more like "I AM GOING TO BE AN OLD MAID SPINSTER SCHOOL TEACHER WHO IS VERY MEAN AND GOSSIPS AND HAS FORTY MILLION CATS!!!!!!" It was funny when we were 12, telling each other what she would be doing when she grew up...not so funny now. That was a desperate moment. Thankfully, I don't have many of those.

     After I prayed, or maybe while I was praying (it's one of those times when I'm not sure what happened when), I thought about what I had told my students just this morning. We have been talking a lot about prayer lately. About how God always hears our prayers and always answers, even if the answer isn't the one we want. But even if God doesn't answer the way we want Him to, that's okay, because God knows everything, and He knows exactly what we need, when we need it. Teaching children really has the value of reminding you of fundamental truths that are sometimes forgotten in an effort to "dig deep." (Not that there is anything wrong with digging into God's Word, but don't lose sight of the basics.)

     It was during this mediation, sitting on my closet floor, that God spoke to me. (No, I did not hear a booming voice saying "On Saturday, June 2 at 2:00 pm all of your dreams will come true.") Usually, His voice comes to me through Scripture, but on rare occasions, I get a bit more.

HOLD IT!

     "How do you know it was God talking to you, not some imaginary conversation with one of the random people in your brain?"

     That, my skeptic friend is a very good question. And valid.

CONFESSION: I do have imaginary conversations with random brain people...almost every day. (I promise, I am not crazy. It's is an entertaining way to pass the time.) And yes, I have tagged God's name into some of those conversations. 

So how can I claim the reality? Well, for starters, when I am having an imaginary conversation that I would like God to have with me it has the following qualities.

1. It is long and drawn out.
2. It goes exactly the way I want it to go.
3. I am usually trying justify something.
4. I know I am making it up.

On the other hand, when it is really God speaking to me, I know. I can't give much other explanation other than to direct you to John 10:27 "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me."

Moving on...

     What God wanted me to hear tonight was simple, only two words. "Be ready." Okay, I changed my mind. I'll take the booming voice, please. Be ready for what? When should I be ready? Be ready how? That really wasn't very helpful. Or was it?

     "Be ready." In a time of mediation that took a fraction of the time I'm taking to write this or you will take to read it, I was reminded of something very important. My job isn't to worry. My job isn't to micro-manage every detail. My job isn't to come up with a five, ten, and twenty year plan for my life. (Personally, I still think that is a pointless exercise to make highschoolers do. A bazillion things will change by the time you graduate. Most likely, nothing will be even remotely similar.) My job is to Be Ready. After all, that's what a hope chest is for, being ready. Ready for what? Ready for whatever God has planned for me. I know God has a plan for me, a plan I can't even begin to imagine!

     In a few moments, I will preview and post this online, share it with facebook, then go back to the closet. I will rub the stitches, smooth a ribbon, adjust a flower, then lay this precious thing back in its place. As I shut the drawer, however, it will be with the realization that soon--not this year, maybe not next year or the year after, but soon--I will be holding my baby daughter dressed in this gown. I will be ready.