“Hope is not a wish, a want, or a desire. Hope is something more. It’s a belief that no matter how dark things get, better days are ahead. The pragmatist may argue that hope is immaterial, impractical, and thus, unnecessary. And further that hope doesn’t always get rewarded. But the StoryAthlete knows that hope is useful. That it can in fact be the bedrock of our being when the weight of the world descends upon us. Hope keeps us from spiraling into freefall. It’s a critical tool in each of our boxes. When the valleys of life inevitably reach us, we’d do well to not be found without it.”
CJ’s context for today was so eloquent, and paired with Ryan’s, it is a perfect liturgy on the need for both hope and execution.
These days I waiver between hope and despair. Due to the COVID-19 shutdown, we had already applied for mortgage forbearance and cancelled every monthly service we could think of, and then suddenly my family was one of the ones blessed to receive an EIDL loan. Overnight, we went from facing complete financial ruin to being in the position to really grow our business and contribute positively to our community.
And then the (illegal) mechanic’s lien was discovered two weeks before the closing on my flip house, and the desperate attempt to obtain a bond to remove the lien in time to save the sale of the investment house. Every penny (and then some) was put into that bond, and the sale of the house is still not assured. We are back to living hand to mouth financially until the house sells.
And yet hope springs eternal. Today was a series of gut punches – negative surprises right and left. But it was also a very sweet day with my daughter accompanying me to San Antonio. If not for her, I really think I would have been an emotional mess today. Instead, I have plenty of photos to remind me that all of these horrible things are just things – they will all pass.
What really matters is my relationship with my family, the precious conversations with my children, and growing in my walk with the Lord through every experience, positive as well as negative.
I keep hope alive.
I’m going to do something a little different today – repost two writings from others in my writing group. (I referenced them above.) Please read them when you have a few minutes.
CJ Thomas:
“Rose-Colored Glasses…”
Rose Schindler is a Holocaust survivor.
I listened to her abbreviated story recently on the Jocko Podcast.
The horror and atrocities she witnessed firsthand were nearly unbearable to listen to.
Out of her extended family of 150 members, only 8 survived.
Rose, herself, was scheduled for death multiple times. But through incredible bravery and taking desperate chances she managed to escape the horrific mass genocide that claimed so many others at Auschwitz.
Through help from her sisters and strangers in the camps, she was able to narrowly stave off starvation.
Rose was only eight years old when her hell-on-earth journey began.
Jewish businesses were being shut down. Her closest friends at school stopped talking to her. Students and then teachers became increasingly aggressive and filled with rage towards her.
The propaganda about the corrupt nature of the “Dirty Jews” had spread like wildfire. An entire population accepted the narrative hook, line, and sinker.
The Jewish people lost the right to conduct business. Lost the right to talk back. Lost the right to attend school. And eventually lost the right to do anything at all.
Rose’s family was rounded up and taken via train (where prisoners were packed in like sardines and had no access to bathrooms) to the concentration camps.
And that’s where the horrors really began.
I wept several times listening to her recount the events. Each tragic memory. Each feeling of helplessness. And never any explanation as to why.
Her dad managed to reunite with her at one point. And charged her with a mission, “Stay alive,” he said, “so you can tell the world what they are doing to us.” It was one of the last things her father would ever tell her.
Imagine the crushing weight this puts on an eight-year old. To be separated from family. Stripped naked and shaved from head to toe. To be starved, beaten, scared, abused, and selected for extermination. To live in fear, confusion, and uncertainty as you hear the screams of other innocent prisoners in the distance. And inhale the waft of burnt human flesh on a day by day basis.
It crushes my heart to think about it.
Rose reminds the listeners that people talk about the millions killed in the Holocaust as if they’re unfortunate statistics.
But every single one of those numbers was a real live human being. Just like your parents. Your siblings. Your children. Just like you or me.
Every single one of those millions not ready to die at the hands pure evil.
Each and every one with hopes and dreams and aspirations for the future.
Each with incomprehensible potential that the world will never know.
Not just unidentifiable, random corpses.
But human beings with names, ambitions, and futures.
All mercilessly snuffed out.
It’s almost too much to bear.
And I wasn’t even there.
Admittedly, I often think of the Holocaust as ancient history. Because it didn’t happen during my history.
But it truly wasn’t that long ago.
People like Rose are still around to warn us of its recency. And to alert us to similar trends taking place in our own culture today.
It’s been said that those who don’t understand history are bound to repeat it.
But I wonder if enough people will recognize the signs before it’s too late.
Jocko asked Rose about her feelings after she was finally free.
After the torture, humiliation, and loss of life she had to endure.
After having her teeth drilled and filled with cement against her will.
After enduring a perpetual living nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.
You might expect her to be filled with rage. Consumed by anger. Or desiring restitution.
But, amazingly, she only expressed gratitude.
If anyone’s ever had a right to wallow in despair, it’s Rose.
But she chose to move on and live her life fully instead.
She refused to let the past dictate her future.
Refused to let the horror define her identity.
Refused to be a victim. Even though, by every iteration and definition of the word, she would have been entitled to do so.
But what good would that do?
What kind of homage does that pay to the ones who didn’t make it?
How could she afford to waste any time on pity when millions of others would have given absolutely anything to be in her shoes?
Rose remembers that it’s not division that saved her life, but unity with others.
A shared ration from her sister here. An apple from a stranger there. Sometimes a quarter of a piece of bread was the difference between living and dying.
She helped others. And they helped her.
Rose maintained hope in the most hopeless of circumstances.
And her example reminds other to do the same.
Here’s hoping we all remember that which we have in common over that which threatens divides us.
Here’s hoping we can all put away our inner victimhood.
Here’s hoping that each person embraces their pursuit of happiness. Rather than assuming they’re entitled to it.
Here’s hoping we can look to the strength, spirit, and courage of a Rose, so that we may avoid hell-on-earth in our own lives.
Here’s hoping we can see the world through “Rose”-colored glasses.
Ryan Fletcher’s :
“I Keep Hope Alive” –
I can’t remember the movie, but there was a quote, something to the affect. “You feel that,” as someone shoved their hand into the person’s wound.” Yeah, the man responded. “Good, that’s means there’s still fight inside of you.” It might have been in the movie, “Lone Survivor.” Either the way, the point is the same. If you’re not dead, then hope is alive and well. Setbacks. Pain. Agony. Suffering. Each of these represent the human condition. Unlike most other animals, we have consciousness. We can choose. We can decide. We can have faith, optimism, and fortitude. So, keeping hope alive? I don’t need to. Life does that. As long as I’m alive, so is hope. But hope, outside of motivation, is a poor strategy. Hope is only the first step. It can’t be the sustained journey. I see, and hear, so many stories about people holding out hope, but then, hope is all they have. They don’t move. Don’t travel. Don’t scheme. Don’t shift or change their ways. They don’t execute. Hope is just the first step. When people don’t understand that, they tend to lose hope pretty fast. Because hope can’t save you. Only execution can.