What sound does hope make when it dies?

Does anyone else remember those “magic eye” books and posters? The ones that, if you stared long enough or used a certain position to view it, you could see whatever picture was hidden behind the abstract design. They were quite popular when I was younger.

Can I let you in on a secret? Though sometimes I pretended I did to get my friends to stop hassling me, I never really saw any hidden images. On occasion, if I seemed to get lucky, I thought I could see something, but the image just never was clear enough for me. I always hoped one day I could unlock the secret to finding whatever was there…. but alas, that hope never came to fruition. The expectation was there, but that was all there was.

We all often expect so much. We hope for better things to come that never appear. We hope to create relationships that never blossom. We look for heroes and find that those we have long put on pedestals just aren’t staying on them. We expect better sunshiny days and only find stormy clouds and rain. After awhile, it seems like nothing can go right.

Our hope dies.

We’ve all been there. We hear things like “I’m sorry, there is nothing more we can do” or “we’ve decided to go with another candidate for the position.” We deal with betrayals and plans gone awry. We find ourselves gnashing our teeth as we deal with frustrations and grief, weariness and longings that will never be filled. We find ourselves searching for answers that never come, dealing with heroes that can’t save us because they don’t know what we expect them to do, and feelings of inadequacies because we just don’t have strength to hope any longer.

What sound does hope make when it dies?

Is it even really dead? Or is it still there, smoldering amongst the coals that are left of the fire that has almost died out, waiting like a phoenix to rise again from the ashes when we least expect it to?

There have been times in my life where hope has seemingly died out. There have been times where it felt like all magic was lost and my story, at least as I knew it, was over.

“I don’t know why we’re doing this procedure. He could code at any minute.”

“Talk to me when you write a bestseller novel. Until then, I don’t care.”

“Even though you’ve been helping faithfully every week with this group, we decided it’s best if you don’t go on the big weekend trip. We want someone else to step into the position.”

It’s hard to find the embers that remain of hope when your life feels like it is tumbling around you and those you’ve looked up to have helped to knock you down. It’s difficult to see that the magic is there when everything seems wrong and you are in the depths of betrayal. That sound you hear then seems as though hope has died.

But it’s still there. That sound of hope dying…. it’s just a chapter has completed, leaving you with a cliffhanger that will resolve soon. That sound of hope dying is the noise magic makes when its about to show you a better way. And while the magic eye picture may never be revealed, perhaps it was the pattern we were supposed to notice all along, that beautiful symphony of sight and sound that keeps us writing the books of our lives.

Our hope is not dead. It is alive.

Stay magical, friends.

Write your own story.

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