AfterWords | An Invitation to Hope

A short read
by Amy Hoyle

I’m one of the leaders in a nine-month Bible study on the book of Revelation. A week before Thanksgiving, we read Revelation 5, which is about how Jesus is the only one worthy to open the scroll. In heaven, Jesus the Lamb is worshiped with immense joy. And one day, every creature on heaven and earth and under the earth and sea will worship Jesus.  It won’t be a forced song. Worship will leap from our heart.

One of the study questions asked, in what I’ve learned about Jesus the Lamb, how has my view been impacted? The first question that came to mind was, Do I repeat the sounding joy?

“Joy to the World” is about Jesus’ return and is based on Psalm 98.

As I started to consider other Christmas hymns, I learned there are several that speak to a future hope. “Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus,” “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” and “O Holy Night,” which is my favorite.

I am ready for a thrill of hope in my weary world. I’m ready to rejoice and welcome a new and glorious morn.

As I enter Advent, I am a mix of melancholy and expectancy. My parents passed away a few years ago, and for some reason this year my heart aches deeply for their presence. My parents and I always listened to their Christmas albums. There was the Ray Conniff Singers, Handel’s Messiah, and Julie Andrews.

As I was cooking last night, I thought it would be nice to listen to the Julie Andrews Christmas songs. But as each song played, the ache in my heart grew and grew. I actually got a little grumpy because I was trying to give myself a mean-girl talk about not crying, but it wasn’t working. Even typing these words, my throat aches and begins to close, and the tears fall.

I know I grieve because I loved and was loved. And when I’m overcome, I do give thanks, even in the sorrow, for the gift God gave in my grandmothers and parents. I was beloved, and I am so grateful.

My hope is wrapped around Jesus, my now and coming King. The Hebrew word for this kind of hope is qavah, which means to wait. In this space we can acknowledge our pain and embrace unanswered questions. This hope is resilient and active. It refuses to let darkness overcome.

This hope is a defiant flower that pushes through the concrete to bloom. It’s a hope that waits and waits and keeps on waiting, with aching expectation.

A second definition for qavah is to bind together. I know Christmas can be gift wrap and ribbons and brown paper packages tied up with string. Maybe the visuals I associate with Christmas are meant to remind me how entwined my heart is with God. Though ribbons and string can be broken, the tie that binds my heart to God’s heart will never break.

God took a portion of His heart and made each of us, out of love. His heart has an Amy shape that fits me perfectly. And His heart has a shape for each of you, as well.

I love what Ann Voskamp shared,

“We are meant to lose hope in all the things of here, and only find hope in Him.
And all of us who tie our hearts and hopes to God alone can feel it,
even now in the dark, in the longing,
in the unknown and in the aching waiting.

To hope against hope is to hope with nothing but Hope Himself supporting you.
To hope against hope is to be tied so closely to God,
heart bound to Him,
you lean all your hope up against Hope Himself.”

And my heart begins to repeat the sounding joy.