Finding Hope in Weary Times

There’s a line in my mom’s favorite Christmas hymn, “O Holy Night,” that says, “A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices.” I grew up listening to this song during the holidays, but the power of those words never struck me until the Winter 2018 edition of Magnolia Journal, where the dedicated theme of the issue was The Thrill of Hope. 

Hope, to me, used to feel like an empty promise that things would get better and stay that way. It felt dangerous to get too close. Disappointment was too heavy of an emotion to bear. Hope was a liability.

If you’re living in the US, hope for the future of our country might feel like a liability to you, too. I can’t say that I blame anybody for checking out, numbing out, and feeling like all is lost. 

For those of us paying attention, moments of hopelessness are inevitable. The power of despair can be all-consuming. I think the Indigo Girls said it best: “Darkness has a hunger that’s insatiable, and lightness has a call that’s hard to hear.”

Hope is a Verb

I began to see hope as a lifeline sometime within the last three years. Somewhere between the chaos, fear, and heartbreak, I made room for the hope that getting through the days, the weeks, and the months, wouldn’t always feel like such a Herculean task. 

It’s difficult not to feel like a fraud while I’m writing this. When it comes to the state of our country, I oscillate between hope and hopelessness more often than I’d like to admit. 

The darkness, in all of its insatiable hunger, sometimes feels too big to defeat. But it means something to me that I always come back to hope. 

They say that love is a verb more than it’s a noun, and I think the same is true about hope. 

Hope is Generosity

The thing about hope is that it often requires generosity from us. In times of lack, however, (which many of us are currently experiencing mentally, emotionally, and financially) generosity also feels like a liability. It feels easier to be generous when you have more to give.

Last year, I found myself unemployed on two separate occasions. Paycheck-to-paycheck would have been an understatement. I became reliant on biweekly unemployment checks, and a generous credit card limit that was established before I got laid off (the first time). 

However, in the wake of the Trump administration, it became clear to me that community had to become a priority. I knew I didn’t have much to give financially, but I committed myself to generosity anyway because I saw hope in my community. 

Writer, Nikita Gill, has a poem that assigns words to this feeling: 

“Everything is on fire, 

but everyone I love is doing beautiful things

and trying to make life worth living, 

and I know I don’t have to believe in everything, 

but I believe in that.”

Hope asks us to be generous to ourselves—to give ourselves the opportunity of knowing that painful times don’t last. Hope also asks us to be generous with the way we see others. 

Under capitalism, it’s unnatural to view others as part of our community. We’re often taught to view others as just that: an other. An opponent. A competitor. Hope isn’t compatible with those teachings. 

When I started viewing others with more generosity, hope was easier to find and easier to act on. I gave more freely without the fear of missing out or having less. Hope became a new currency for me. I gave it happily and received it gratefully.

Regardless of where you stand religiously, the thrill of hope described in “O Holy Night” is something worth reaching for. And when the weary world rejoices in justice and freedom, when the insatiable darkness no longer reigns, you’ll know you were part of the lightness.