How many of us have fallen short of dreaming big for fear of disappointing ourselves? I’m not speaking of fame, fortune, or a power position at some Fortune 100 company. The hope I’m speaking of is that which we grasp in lieu of tears and terror during those dark nights that grind our spirits into the mud.

Sorry for being all doom and gloom, but most of those reading this post will have at least one experience of the above. When serious illness strikes, we often gird ourselves by expecting the worst so positive news will come as a joy. The loss of a job, a home, a or reputation can devastate us. During contentious times when a family splits for seemingly petty or even wholly justifiable reasons—we’ve been there, too—we shield ourselves by shunning all thought of hope.

We hide out in the shadow of the Valley of Tears, and tell ourselves that this is how life goes. Don’t think about it. Distraction is the answer because there’s zero that we can do outside lower our expectations.

When a beloved child goes his way, heading toward known danger with a full head of steam while entertaining the same invincibility that we once had, it tears flesh from bone. To see said child aided and abetted by those who were friends but are really accomplices sparks the need to fret, badmouth, pull the been-there-done-that card, and generally give up Christian principles by doing the opposite of what Christ told us we should do for a perceived enemy.

Matthew 5:43-48

You have heard that it was said, “You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.” But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven.

Who is the enemy, though? Those evil influences? The older, bolder pal or family member who leads the way toward a so-called pleasure garden? Sure. There are plenty of black hats in the scenario of a wayward anyone. Yet, oftentimes we are the enemy, hating on ourselves for perceived failure. What we did or didn’t do becomes the beating stick for choices over which we, ultimately, had no control.

God is in the driver’s seat and thank God.

When we fail to acknowledge that logistical realty, we become the worst enemy of all. We miss the truth that we are the one being tested when cherished attachments are torn away. Yes, our child is facing dangers. But didn’t we? Weren’t we allowed to burn our hand on the stove now and again to reinforce the truth that actions have consequences?

Our children are not our own, precisely. We’re stewards, really, granted the privilege of nurturing particular souls who, whether we’ll have it or not, will be tested. Or do you still carry your grown children around in a snuggle sack?

My poor mother suffered immeasurably when each one of her eight children put her through trials of which I am now ashamed. The late 60’s and 70’s and 80’s provided more than wild times in the San Francisco Bay Area. Haight Ashbury calling. Love-Ins. Protests of all kinds. The Night Stalker. The Zodiac Killer. Short shorts & micro-mini skirts. Communes & the Vietnam War. I hope you’re smiling a little recalling your own exploits and God’s ultimate goodness.)

But such is life Mom would say by the time I came along. Witnessing faith and patience in action was one of many benefits to being the youngest as I watched classic movies with Mom till wee hours. Monitoring the when/where/how siblings would slip into the house was a must. And, meanwhile, I learned Mom belonged to an all girl’s ‘gang’ in the 30’s. She was a jitterbug queen who broke curfew. She dared to wear scarlet lipstick and hid in the barn from a blazingly angry, alcoholic dad.

She stole watermelons only to motorcycle through orchards with my father of equal repute. They married when she was only 16. (Amazingly she turned 18 when crossing the CA/NV border, tying the knot in Carson City after being foiled in CA for being under age.) Southern Comfort was my tea-totaling mother’s drink of choice. She even accompanied the Portuguese milkman on his rounds and was the talk of the neighborhood since she and Dad were courting. The vamp!

Was my grandmother beside herself?

Absolutely. The Swedish-speaking immigrant with barely two words of English, the same farmer’s wife who never left the house, visited the high school. Surely the principal could help with this wild child. But no. God had his plan. And none of the above was my grandmother’s fault. She was being, however. Grandma Wilhelmina (Minnie) used to turn the clock back to keep my mother from being caught being late. I’d hardly label that a grave sin as Grandmother did whatever possible to keep peace in the house.

This is how my mom understood that she was being tested by me and my siblings when her turn came. I’m in the hot seat now. We are, tasked with hoping in all things, while sadly doing the opposite and often making matters worse. (If you haven’t experienced that, good for you. Thank God!)

But hope is not putting a bag over one’s head. It’s not being in denial. Or walking around like a tranquilized zombie who fails to notice the dangers all around. Not at all. We need to do all that we can when we can. Christians are called to spread the faith by practicing what we preach.

That means leaving off the pretense that ‘we’ could have done x, y, or z to obtain a better outcome. Doing something different would have led to an entirely different set of trials. That’s the truth. The wanting isn’t nearly as sweet as the having. Who hasn’t learned that?

So, cut the self-loathing if you’re in that dark night. Advise those you love and those you don’t—yet—to do the same. God is God.

Each individual is his own closest neighbor. And if we’re to love others as we love ourself, we should focus on forgiving ourselves first. Be compassionate. Understand that you’re human, too. Our children and families belong to God. We belong to God.

So do HOPE in all things. Give up the lie of ultimate control because we all know how baffling it is to be helpless. It’s crazier still to pretend we can solve other people’s problems when we’re busy hating on our closest neighbor. And sometimes when you let go, and let God, he’ll supply what you’ve earned by way of trust. An answer to prayer that’s far more glorious than you ever hoped.

I’ve recently received a joyous answer to unceasing prayer. My petitions weren’t always spoken but experienced by way of ongoing yearning, hope, tears, desperation, & the attempt to trust God and not myself. I failed more often than not, but Mary Alford’s previous post about Failing God can help with that.

The prayers of others very dear to me, those suffering similar trials, helped tremendously. I’d dare say the prayers of others helped almost instantaneously and that has only girded my faith that God’s word IS. I am not. And…

Matthew 18: 20

“For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”

Remember it, yes, but live as if these words are reality because they are despite what fear hisses to your heart. God bless and thank you one and all for your prayers and well wishes! I pray God’s will to be done for one and all, as his plans are perfection itself.