Hope: Sometimes Lost, Never Gone

What is Hope?

Hope can be a fickle friend - springing eternal one moment from a source as vast as the ocean, then vanishing the next like a dried-up well in the Dust Bowl. How can one thing exist in such contradiction?

When something swings so wildly, we’re left to wonder: What is hope, really? Is it just a fleeting feeling that rises and falls with our circumstances? Is it something we cling to in our darkest hours?

Maybe it’s all of that, and something deeper. Perhaps hope is an emotional state, a lifeline, and a truth that is inextricably at the core of our being. If we can begin to see hope as all of these things, then the waxing and waning nature of it starts to make sense. Hope is never gone. It is indwelling, and we feel it and reach for it in varying ways as we journey through our lives.

Where Does Hope Come From?

People describe hope in all sorts of ways. For some, it is a physical sensation - a blooming optimism welling up in the chest, or a tingling in the belly. For others, it’s a rational calculation. And for some, hope is rooted in deep religious or spiritual belief – a faith in something larger, more enduring than any one moment.

These are just a few of the ways hope shows up, and there are as many definitions as there are people.  

When It Feels Lost

If hope is all these things – a feeling, a lifeline, a sensation, a thought, a belief, and something within us that endures ad infinitum, why can it feel so far away?

Like the Sphinx buried in the sands of the Sahara, hope can become obscured, hidden beneath layers of grief, fear, or exhaustion. This can happen gradually, one tiny grain of sand at a time. Other times, it vanishes in an instant.

But buried isn’t gone. Hope waits for us – intact, even if unseen. Rediscovering it takes patience. It requires remembering that it’s still there, even when we can’t feel it. And sometimes, all it takes is one small moment of stillness or one gentle act of courage to begin brushing the sand away.

How Do I Find Hope Again?

Finding hope isn’t a formula. It’s personal. It might arrive like a spark or unfold like a sunrise.  Whether fast or slow, one way to think about it is through two simple practices: release and receive.

Release

Letting go is hard. It can be terrifying and exhilarating, and it can come with grief, joy, or sometimes both.

We carry so much – people, plans, roles, beliefs, and ideas. And when life shifts, we may cling to what once worked, afraid of what we’ll lose if we let go. But clinging can trap us.

Imagine someone who was part of a meaningful season of your life. You recognize things have changed, but you keep grasping, hoping to return to what was. Yet in releasing that version of the relationship, you create space for a new one – one shaped by the present, not the past.

Releasing doesn’t always mean losing. It can be the start of creating something new.

Receive

Once we’ve unclenched our fists, the next step is to open our hands.

To receive is to stay open – to life, to others, to whatever comes next. It is a humble and vulnerable act. But it’s also inextricably woven with hope. It is saying, Maybe something good is still possible.

After a loss or disappointment, it feels safer to close ourselves off.  But even with our hands in our pockets, life continues to change and move. The next thing always comes. When we’re open, we don’t just survive the next chapter; we can shape it.  

Small Ways Back to Hope

Hope doesn’t always return with fanfare. Sometimes, it comes in the quiet:

·       A walk where you really notice the wind.

·       A bite of food you actually taste.

·       A new class, a new book, or a new friend.

You might try one small daily act, mindful breathing, mindful walking, or even a few quiet sips of morning coffee. Let your attention land fully there.

These small moments help us remember: hope isn’t always a roar. Sometimes, it’s a whisper, waiting patiently to be heard.

In Closing

Hope and being are faithful companions – even when we don’t feel them. They wax and wane, but they don’t leave.

Witness being. Witness hope.

Know they are not outside of you; they’re part of you.