Hope is a tricky thing.

It bears a heavy weight–one that precariously balances the fruition of something yearned for while opening oneself up to devastating disappointment. In my story of abandonment and divorce, it often felt as if hope wasn’t worth it, like I was tempting a scale that might tip in the wrong direction.

But if these 30 days of stories have left you with one thing to cling to, I hope it is this:

We can endure waiting, disappointment, and suffering because we have a greater Hope. Not hope rooted in the resolution of our circumstances or the belief that our pain will eventually be erased. But hope in a promise.

Hope in a Person.

 In Mark chapter 5, we encounter a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years. Twelve years of being ostracized from society because of her condition. Twelve years of (most likely) debilitating physical symptoms. Twelve years of seeking out physicians and yearning for healing, only to be constantly let down by the seeming betrayal of her body.

We only get a few verses to learn about her, yet they reveal a faith so strong that she believed she could receive healing by simply touching the hem of Jesus’ clothing. Her story ends with instant freedom from her suffering–an utterly life-changing encounter with Him.

Will we all experience that kind of spontaneous healing in our own lives? Most likely not. But because of God’s great love for us and the work Jesus accomplished on the cross, we are all promised redemption. Ultimately, for anyone who chooses to follow and put their trust in Jesus, this means an eternity spent in the perfect fullness of communion with God Himself. Here on Earth, however, that redemption can look like a lot of different things: a restored marriage, a returned prodigal, a body healed, an expanded family. Other times it looks like a life marked by faithfully enduring suffering, a ministry birthed from pain, a legacy from a life lost too soon that draws others to Him.

I’m reminded of these words from Hebrews 11:13, after the author recounts the stories of many pillars of the faith in the Old Testament: “All these people died still believing what God had promised them. They did not receive what was promised, but they saw it all from a distance and welcomed it. They agreed that they were foreigners and nomads here on earth” (NLT).

We are not home–not yet. Wherever you find yourself in your healing journey, and whatever form your redemption takes on this side of Heaven, there is contentment and joy to be found right where you are. Suffering and joy are not opposites; they move together in a delicate dance. When we lean into this rhythm, we find that true joy emerges in surrender, in letting go of control. Ultimately, it flows from trusting the One who writes a story far greater than we could ever imagine.

All that’s left is to hand over the pen.

Contributed by: Stephanie Teague
 

Reflection:
 

1. In what areas of your life do you find it hardest to hope, knowing the risk of disappointment?
   
    
2. Moving forward, how does trusting in God’s promise, rather than a specific outcome, reshape your experience of hope?

Prayer:

Father, I come before You with a heart laid bare, full of all I’ve absorbed over these past 30 days. Thank You for meeting me in every story, in each moment of shared suffering, redemption, and grace. For the times You felt near, and even for the moments when You felt distant but held me close, I give You praise.

There is hope in a new light—a hope that rests not on an outcome but on You, the One who has written each of our stories. I release the need to know how every chapter will unfold and instead trust in Your goodness. My heart longs for that day of ultimate renewal, but until then, let me be content where You have me, finding beauty and joy even in the waiting, even in the pain.

For all of us bound together by this shared journey, may we move forward with open hands and fresh eyes to see Your fingerprints on every moment. Help us to live with a quiet confidence in Your presence and a bold hope, trusting that no season, no sorrow, and no joy is wasted in Your hands. When the weight feels too heavy, remind us of the freedom we have in surrender. And when joy finds us, however small, let us welcome it with open hearts.

We entrust the pen back to You, our true Author. Guide us as we go, with courage and a deep assurance that You are near. Amen.

Reflection Song: