I've never read the book. I've never given my vote to its author. That's neither here nor there. I don't feel much like discussing my politics--which would probably surprise you anyway. That title though. It's golden.
I know about hope's courageousness. The human spirit is resilient. Every month, for many of my married years, I experienced disappointment only to rally my emotions right back onto Hope's bandwagon. I wasn't pregnant. But maybe I would be next month. The audacity of hope.
With every court hearing, and every day that passed, I hoped Matthew would suddenly just be ours. I knew we'd probably have to wait out the long 14 months. I knew we had every possibility of losing him forever. But deep down, I believed it might end that very day. The audacity of hope.
In November, I leaned in to God, praying for His will and wondering if this little unborn baby girl was supposed to be our daughter. I allowed the prickling tingly feeling of prospect to keep me up at night in curious belief that I was standing on the edge of a fat miracle. The audacity of hope.
We lost her and it wasn't long before I dared to think of the future. Hope is brave and reckless and bold. When I hear from our facilitator. When I know that our profile is in the hands of a mother, multiple mothers, maybe, my heart beats a little quicker. My body responds with a physiological reaction to what my soul is saying. Could this be the one? What if this is the one? The audacity of hope.
Each of these children, in the waiting to meet them, conceive them, adopt them, hold them, has taught me a little more about my heart and about my faith. When we walk with the Lord, when we trust Him with the unknown, when we wait (even though it may feel like slow torture) for His timing, we learn that real hope has guts. Real hope holds tightly to the dream and yells that it's not giving up. Real hope is, perhaps, defined by its resolve.
Faith is grown when, against all odds, we have the brazen ability to hope.