The God of hope

Now may the God of hope

 fill you with all joy and peace 

as you believe in Him

 so that you may overflow with hope

 by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Romans 15: 13

The God of hope; the God of the future.  Hope looks forward.  It bubbles with optimism, with the faith that the struggle will be worthwhile in the end.  Hope is strength; a goal to grasp, a reason to keep pressing on.

It's the reason I walk around muttering "eight more years" every time it gets insane at work.

I try to stop myself from doing it.  It makes me feel guilty every time.  I don't want to live in a fog of longing for the future, but maybe all it really is is hope.

There's a constant tension between living for today and grasping at the tendrils of the future.  Maybe there's really not much we can do about that.

It's a fixture of humanity that we can visualize consequences and imagine our place in the future.  We're not particularly accurate with it, but the hope comes in seeing that future in a positive light,  in expecting it all to get better.

Joy and peace are the gifts of God for today.

Am I filled with joy and peace when I have hope the future?

Do I have hope for the future because I'm filled with joy and peace?

The God of hope.

What an incredible title.  Not the God of  destruction or fear or punishment;
       but hope,
               the strength of life,
                      the balm of despair.

Heart Song

Tear your hearts,

Not just your clothes,

And return to the Lord your God.

Joel 2:13

"In right, outright, upright, downright, happy all the time;"

I had nursery with my friends a few weeks ago.

An infant, a toddler, and twenty five three year olds ready to dismantle the church. Ok, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. There weren't really more than seven preschoolers I don't think, and there were three of us.  The ratios still seemed significantly slanted to their side.  As puzzles, clay, and stories devolved into chase each other around the table, in some desparation we began singing old Sunday School songs.

It was somewhat successful, I guess.  At least they stopped running around the room throwing plush fish at each other, but to my surprise, they didn't really join in.  They just dropped down on the rug on their bellies, propped their chins in their hands, and stared at us like they expected a stage production.

I'm not quite sure what you'd call what they got, but it did keep them entertained until their parents got back anyway.

In right

       upright,

                 tear your hearts

Out right

         downright

                   not just your clothes.

It's so much easier to watch than participate,

               but where's the joy in that?