Hope is the antidote to the Kool-Aid on offer at so many roadside stands. It’s a riot of wild color against dull snow. Hope is the nudge on days when just getting to lunch feels like a major accomplishment.
According to Scripture, hope is an anchor–which is a curious image, because you only need an anchor when you’re expecting trouble, like from a storm, or a drifting away of the boat while you’re snorkeling. Actually, there’s one other purpose for an anchor: when the engine of your (small) boat breaks down, you can pitch the anchor a few feet in front of the bow, pull at the rope, lift the anchor out, and repeat the process. Eventually this will get you to shore.
Hope abides (more Scripture). There’s a lot that picks at hope, but hope persists and refuses to tuck tail and run. Hope stands, sturdy and real–and stands outside my ability to conjure it like a rabbit from a hat, or a coin from an open palm. Hope that doesn’t depend on me?
Hope is assurance (Scripture again), the confidence that putting all your eggs in one basket is going to work out just fine.