I Don't Want to Do This Anymore... Broken Hope

Just a few days prior to the incident, I'd mustered up the courage, and hung hope on a galvanized pole suspended, quite fragily, between doubt and belief. It wasn't ONLY about the birds that I had hoped would find the Mason jar feeders we'd hung on our milk can contraption. It was so much deeper than that. It was about the birds that didn't find the feeders, and how we had hoped that life would come in some form right to our backyard. And...It did. Encouragement finally came and successfully muffled doubt when the birds found the seed we had lovingly placed for them. (If you would like to read the full story, you may do so HERE.)


Five short days after the birds came, when hope had a heartbeat, an unexpected gust of wind whipped underneath our red patio umbrella and shot it like a weapon directly towards the milk-can-clothesline-pole-miniature-bird-sanctuary-thingy. Sigh. Hope alive crashed into a thousand pieces of glass on the ground, and birdseed scattered... EVERYWHERE. IronMan and I stood in disbelief. It felt like we had mustered all of the hope between us to allow this precious contraption to become a symbol of hope to our aching, wondering hearts. I looked at IronMan, and I said, "I am done. I am so done."

HERE LIES GOOD OLD HOPE... DEADER THAN A DOORNAIL... WHICH IS PRETTY DARN DEAD.

I don't want to do this anymore. This roller-coaster of hope, death, hope, death, hope, death, hope, death. We are tired...so tired.

 NO! I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!

I am tired of something going wrong every turn of the corner. I am tired of things NOT being in our favor. I am tired of having to fight for everything. EVERYTHING. I am tired of feeling like we have an enemy attacking us, and we never seem to catch a breath. I am tired of working hard and not getting the full benefits of that hard work. I am tired of seeing my IronMan work endless hours and there not being enough to make ends meet. I am tired of praying and praying and praying that we will make it, and we always end up on the edge. I am tired of wondering why prayers seemingly go unanswered, and why God is allowing this...

HE HAS TO BE ALLOWING THIS.


What do you do when the vulnerable, precious hope you have lifted to God crashes, and all that is left are useless shards laying on the ground? Honestly, this has been indicative of the last 18 years of our journey. We are beginning to wonder if something is wrong with us. I have to believe that I am not alone in that question. What hard are you facing? What tragedies are in your past that cause you to question, too? I want you to know, whatever it is that haunts from the past or weighs on you presently, or a combination of the two, you are not alone.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE!

So what are we to do about this? As much as I would like to crawl under a rock, find a cave to hide in, or run off deep into the mountains with my family, we can't do that. I know it might not always feel this way, but...

NO MATTER HOW BAD IT IS, IT COULD BE WORSE. IT REALLY COULD.

I am not diminishing the ache, grief, shame, wounds, or struggles you are facing. I promise. But I know even in the midst of the deepest of griefs, even compounded griefs, there are still GIFTS. There is still LIGHT. We can find HOPE.

I know. I know that it probably feels like it cost you just about everything to hold your hands cupped together with little bits of hope dripping through your fingers to ask God, one more time, to please show up and do something, and it hurts when it feels like hope dissolved.

We have to dig deep, dear ones. We must. We cannot let broken hope have the last word. We have to look at those jagged pieces of shattered hope and find a way back... AGAIN.

I looked at those shattered pieces of glass on the ground, and I couldn't even cry. I felt numb. It was such a minor thing in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like the last thing my weary heart could handle. The broken glass pieces and hope of tending to sparrows tumbled on the ground right along with my heart. All I could do was shake my head in disbelief. IronMan bent down and carefully picked up hundreds of pieces of broken Mason jars. I know this hurt him, too, but he scrounged around enough of something to at least begin to pick up the disaster. The next morning, he was the first customer in the store where we purchased the bird feeders. He found  one last Mason jar feeder hiding on the bottom of a shelf. It was, literally, the very last one. We combined two of the broken bird feeders to make one complete feeder.

WE PICKED UP WHAT WAS BROKEN, DUG SOUL-DEEP, AND FOUND A WAY TO OFFER A FRAGMENT OF HOPE, YET AGAIN. IT FELT LIKE TAINTED HOPE, BUT NONETHELESS, IT WAS HOPE.

I am choosing to believe that even if God has been allowing this hard journey, He must be forging something in the deep. The alternative is to believe nothing at all, and that doesn't seem like a good option to me. Even in the midst of some extremely dark circumstances, I have been carried by Him. I also have to believe that somehow, some way, even if it doesn't feel okay, we will make it, and you will make it. We may cry a river and heave from the depths of our beings, we may feel angry, frustrated, devastated, wounded...but at some point we will be breathing again, and sometime the darkness will lift.

FIGHTING FOR HOPE IS THE BEST DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARKNESS THAT WE HAVE. IT IS WORTH FIGHTING FOR.

I took the leftover top of one of the broken Mason jar feeders and made an itty-bitty lantern, about the same size as the hope we could offer. I put a tea light in it to shine against the darkness that comes when everything presses against hope. We don't yet know the outcome of our current circumstance, but we are trusting, and with hands cupped, we have lifted to God in our broken-best the most hope that we could offer...itty-bitty.

"And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with love." (Romans 5:5 NLT)


***********

"More of Our Story... and a Few Birds to Feed"

When I woke up today I decided that I'd better find a way to start writing again, or bust. It's summer, and I am supposed to have more time in the summer to write than during the school year when we are busy homeschooling. Right? Well, I've been trying to take a few intentional days when summer life has allowed to catch up on deep rest, reading, a few landscaping projects etc. I have poked around with writing a little, but every time I would get my computer out and my coffee made, my kids would need something, laundry would need switched, or some other pressing thing hijacked my plans. BUT this morning, the moment my eyes opened, I knew. TODAY was the day to get back to writing. I'm not sure how other writers go about the process of writing, whether they are bloggers, or full-blown authors. Honestly, I am neither. I write when my heart feels stirred to share something and space allows. I feel FREE, because I'm not trying to be or do something. I just share my heart when I feel led to share. I don't have a particular plan or schedule. Ummm... my last blog post was four months ago. Enough said. But again, THIS MORNING, I knew my directive was to write. The best way for me to make sure that will happen without any interruptions is to leave the house. I know that's probably terrible, but if I don't prioritize carving out the space to do this, then it won't happen. So bless my heart, I get to sit in the Starbucks' air conditioning, listen to calm and soothing Lord of the Rings music in my ear buds and see where my prayers and heart lead me. I was working on another piece (that hopefully, I will get back to), when my husband texted me a picture. I scrapped the plans that I had for writing, and I am going to tell you the story about WHY I am now sitting here CRYING in Starbucks.

*********** 

First, I need to give you a little background.

I have only blogged in bits and pieces about our family's story. Maybe eventually, all the bits and pieces will come together into a completed jigsaw puzzle for you, but for now, I will share a few more puzzle pieces to fill in a tiny bit more of the picture. I started this blog in February 2011 to be a place of raw transparency where others could find the truth of grace and know they had a safe place to share or land, if needed. At the time I began my blog, IronMan was the senior pastor of a small church in Michigan. We were there for a decade, but we knew when we arrived after being at the church for just three days that it was going to be a very long haul. And THAT it was. After ten years (almost twenty years in full-time ministry at the time), we were just done.  

WE COULDN'T DO IT FOR ONE MORE DAY KIND OF DONE.

So we packed up our four kids ages 5-15 at the time, every humble earthly belonging we had, and the ONLY LIFE WE HAD EVER KNOWN, and moved to Colorado to live with my parents. We thought we had been fully stripped the decade we lived in Michigan, but let me tell you, there is nothing more humbling after being on your own for 20 years to have to move back in with parents. We were bankrupt in every sense of the word. Every sense. We walked away from a career, church, income (INCOME!), what little security we felt we had, INDEPENDENCE, and left for higher hopes in the Rocky Mountains. We thought, perhaps, we might live with my parents for one year or less just to get back on our feet, and that IronMan would be led to a great job. It was going to be the start of a brand new life for us. I know life isn't always hard for everyone, but many of you can relate in some manner. For us...

IF THERE WAS A DOOR TO OPEN AND WALK THROUGH, THERE WAS A BRICK WALL ON THE OTHER SIDE.

We half-jokingly say around our house that we are Sargents and nothing is ever easy for us. But after being on this journey with IronMan for 25 years, I can affirm that to be true. Sometimes, things are just hard for people for whatever reason, and we are those people. I am not being negative, or even down-in-the-dumps. I share from the reality that we have had a hard road, and it's not for lack of prayer, trusting, or trying. Our journey is scarred. Believe me when I tell you that it is. I am not just saying words, because they sound authentic to say. WE ARE SCARRED. In a thousand different ways. Nearly unrecognizably so. Before I get too far off point, I will get back to when we arrived in Colorado. Our humble savings and profit from our huge moving sale in Michigan dwindled faster than we could keep milk in the fridge and bread on the table for our children. IronMan applied for jobs everywhere. EVERYWHERE. We just assumed that God would provide SOMETHING, but He didn't. The very moment that we were released from Michigan and led to Colorado, the local job economy in Colorado took a nose-dive. It was the worst time since 2001 to find employment in the state. Common jobs like grocery baggers were 500 applications deep. I thank God for my parents' generosity to us, because without them, we would have been homeless, but we still had bills to pay. We were, literally, down to our last $35 with no job prospects in sight. Along with desperate financial concern, the emotional transition out of church was excruciating. We had to find a way to healing and we also had to help our children find a way to healing (tears come even thinking about it) after the deep damage that was done. We all lost our identity, and we had to keep ourselves from looking back to "Egypt" and painting it in a light that it surely wasn't.

WE LEFT DARKNESS HOPING (AGAINST ALL ODDS) FOR LIGHT, AND ALL WE ENCOUNTERED BY MOVING TO COLORADO WAS MORE DARKNESS.

Out of utter desperation for income of some kind, IronMan took our last $35 and went to an auction in Denver to try to multiply our less-than-meager funds. He bought an old cookie jar, a vintage coffee maker, and a box of pathetic junk. He listed those items on ebay, and made a $200 profit. It felt like a small miracle. He then went back to the auction, bought a few more items, and did the same. BY GRACE, we now had a small income. BY GRACE, for the next three years, IronMan (who is not a businessman) grew the ebay business. The hope that we would only have to live with my parents for a year turned into nearly four years. They were closing in on retirement, and naturally, they wanted to have their space back. They were so gracious to let six of us live freely in their Colorado home, and during this stretch of four years, those Rocky Mountains and Colorado blue skies did, indeed, bring a measure of healing to all of us, but it was time to transition again. We began to fervently seek God about where we should live in Colorado, and it became quickly, and absolutely clear that we were not supposed to be in Colorado at all, but we were supposed to return to our roots in Indiana. My generous parents, ONCE AGAIN, fully enabled us to follow God into the unknown He was calling us towards. We packed our belongings into one moving truck, ebay stock into another moving truck, shed lots of tears, and leaving a little bit more soul-healed than we had arrived, we left Colorado for the next leg of our journey.

Now before you think that this part of our journey has finally been smooth, please remember that we are Sargents, and nothing seems to be easy for us, ever. Truly. We have been here for almost 18 months, and last summer, ebay betrayed us and almost hook-line-and-sinker-crashed. Having been in the online retail business for nearly five years, we know that there is a summer lull and we expected it, but being independent again, our needs were greater, and the usual summer lull turned into us running the gauntlet. If we don't have ebay sales while all of our potential buyers are sitting ocean-side with their toes in the sand sipping fruit-filled umbrella drinks (who can blame them?), you can liken that to not getting a paycheck for the week. During the summer, we go without several paychecks. Not many regular people can sustain that, and we are definitely regular people. This summer, even with a few protective income precautions in place, we have found ourselves still running the gauntlet. Sigh. We survive from sale to sale, miracle to miracle, breath to breath and hope to hope. Don't think for a second that because I am able to write this that it doesn't rattle the cages of faith. Our faith has been shaken right down to the bones over and over again, and we have kicked, scratched, and clawed our way back to trusting through the years in things even far deeper than finances. But, somehow, some way, we are still here.

CURRENTLY, WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GAUNTLET, TRUSTING FOR PRACTICAL MIRACLES, BREATH, HOPE...

...AND BLESS OUR HEARTS, THAT IS DEFINITELY SOMETHING.

***********

So much life... light and darkness mingled together... has happened around and between these few puzzle pieces of our journey.

***********

Now, back to me crying in Starbucks.

A few months ago, IronMan bought this crazy milk can contraption at auction with what looked like a galvanized clothesline pole welded to it. He purchased it to resell the milk can, but when he put it in the car after the auction, he realized he couldn't remove the galvanized pole. He brought it home to me pretending it was some grand and thoughtful gift that he had purchased just for me, and he tried to talk me into how amazing it would be in our yard (read sarcasm in my tone). At first, I thought the thing was hideous, and I was sure we would get angry glares from our neighbors if we put it in the yard. On Sunday, IronMan randomly decided to paint the milk can portion barn-red to see if I would like it. If you know me, you know that red is my favorite color, and barn-red is my favorite-FAVORITE color. That man of mine is a sly one. {wink~wink} With the milk can portion being barn-red, I slowly warmed up to completely fell in love with the idea of this unique milk-can-pole-thingy. We have a lot of birds around us that we enjoy watching, so we thought it would be sweet to hang feeders from the galvanized pole. We, being as broke as we are right now (summer gauntlet), went to Hobby Lobby with sale information from a friend, and bought the last two Mason jar bird feeders they had at a 66% discount (basically, they were next to free). I decided where I wanted our new barn-red contraption to go and placed it, filled the feeders with a heart full of hope, hung my beloved birthday-gift wind chime, and placed a trailing geranium on the crossbar. I did a little bit of research, and I found out that even if you have several birds in your area, they still might not find the feeders you place. I was a bit discouraged, but we have a lot of birds. Surely, they would come, wouldn't they?

Two long, long days went by, and not a single feathered friend found our lovingly placed feeders. I was so discouraged, and thought for sure my hopes would be fully dashed. Today, when I came to Starbucks to write, I was originally writing a different story to share. My phone vibrated with a text message from IronMan. There were no words, just a single picture.

 


While I wasn't looking, the birds came.

WHEN I WASN'T PAYING ATTENTION, HOPE WAS FULFILLED.

This is the picture IronMan sent me which he took through the kitchen window screen. There are five birds, FIVE. When I spoke with him later, he told me there were at least FIFTEEN birds around the feeders at any given time. I know it probably seems a little silly, but tears flowed at the deeper truth that this spoke to me. When you have had a hard journey (even if you haven't), it can be hard to find your way back to hope of any kind.

WHEN YOU HAVE BEEN BRUISED AND BATTERED BY LIFE, HOPE IS AN OFFERING THAT YOU GIVE FROM DEEP WITHIN, BELIEVING FOR SOMETHING MORE.

Hope can be fragile. Deepened trust or full-out joy may or may not end up being the fruit of  your hope offering, but dear ones, it is a risk that we have to find the strength to take. Over and over again. If we don't have hope, then what have we? It's why the tears slipped from my eyes, right down my cheeks and fell in Starbucks.

EVEN THE SMALLEST BIT OF HOPE FULFILLED IS SOMETHING.

Last night, I was at a sweet little women's group, and the young hostess with a deep, beautiful heart confirmed this thing stirring in my soul. "We live miracle to miracle," she said. Yes. Yes. Yes. I have been using that phrase and living it for years, and I understand the tight rope you have to walk between faith and despair that stirs such a statement from the depths. Only those that really "get" that would utter such a phrase. And on this day that my tears fell in Starbucks, I am grateful for tiny sparrows that came floating with a message on their wings to bring fresh hope right to my heart. Hallelujah. The birds came. I am going to call my young friend and tell her, because even when it feels hopeless, even when we aren't looking, the birds will come. I don't have the answers, but I do believe that one way or another, if you fight your way to hope, it will all be okay...

MIRACLE TO MIRACLE...

BREATH TO BREATH...

HOPE TO HOPE...

***********

All is grace...always grace,