Rejoice in Hope

I've stenciled it on the edges of my class notes since I was a freshman. I have perfected my script, bowing the H just the right about and extending the E just far enough to look carelessly perfect.

Hope.

The word at this point is almost meaningless. Hope in what? What is hope? A beautiful word that makes my heart pound and my eyes water, but a word reduced to emotion, lacking truth or validity.

I have thought much about hope this week. I have let it sit idly in my mind as a pretty word. I have dissected it like a fetal pig, (Isn't that the worst analogy you've heard in a long time) seeking to understand it by destroying it.

I'm not sure I have any real answers. Hope is an expectation. It is a desire. It is uncertain. We hope for what we do not see. We hope for what would be best. We hope because we do not know and cannot know. We hope because our hearts do not let us give up. We hope in faith because we trust and love the one who gives us hope.

Rejoice in hope.

Not rejoice in the things you hope for or in your answered hopes, but rejoice in hope. Rejoice for what you do not have.

It seems so... wrong to me. It seems contrary to my nature. When I hope I do not rejoice, I fret. I worry. I grow anxious.  To rejoice in hope means to have joy merely for the expectation. It means to rejoice in the relationship. I prefer to rejoice in receiving. To rejoice in answered prayers. To celebrate having — the contradiction of hoping.

Rejoice in hope, saints. Celebrate the one who gives you hope; who follows through; who answers. Rejoice in his divinity, his awesome glory, his strength. Rejoice in the hope you have received — the hope of eternity.