I can’t sleep. As I type I see “2:34″ pass at the bottom right of my screen. That’s way too early to be up. And it’s certainly way too early to be blogging. But as I laid in bed and attempted to get back to sleep these words kept spilling into my consciousness:
Hope deferred makes the heart sick. Hope deferred makes the heart sick. Hope deferred makes the heart sick.
So, here I am, with both computer and me out of sleep mode, my morning’s first Americano made, and space/time to wonder and muse. I have a friend who frequently comments on how my brain seems to function on hyper-mode nearly all the time. He told me one day, “Ronna, I’m guessing your thoughts don’t even slow down when you sleep; rather, you are probably processing even faster when not distracted by everything else that surrounds you in consciousness.” He was teasing me more than anything, but there might be something to it. As the words kept ringing in my mind I finally got up, looked them up, and now am here…not sleeping, drinking coffee, and blogging.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick…
I get this. To hope for something and then be forced to wait or to have that for which you hope taken from you does, indeed, make your heart sick. In fact, depending on what has been hoped for and lost, even our bodies feel sick. It’s our whole being that aches – every part of us, inside and out. The Hebrew word for heart is rich and vast:
leb: the inner person, mind will, heart, understanding;
- soul, heart
- mind, knowledge, thinking, reflection, memory
- inclination, resolution, determination (of will)
- conscience
- heart (of moral character)
- as seat of appetites
- as seat of emotions and passions
- as seat of courage
Indeed, everything in us aches when hope is lost or at least deferred. And because of such our tendency is to protect ourselves from that kind of sickness, that kind of pain ever again. We shut down. We tell ourselves we were foolish to hope in the first place. We lower our expectations. We begin (or continue) a learned process of (re)building walls around our heart – every aspect listed above – so that we cannot/will not be impacted, cannot/will not feel pain, and even lose things like “appetites,” “emotions,” “passions,” and “courage.”
I know that tendency and oft’ tidal force within me when my hopes are dashed. I can hear the voices inside that tell me it’s my own fault that I’m hurting, that I placed too much of myself on the line, that I should have known better, that I was crazy to place any stock in that thing happening or this person coming through for me or that scenario materializing. These are sentences, themes, and patterns that are way too familiar.
But here’s what I’m realizing this morning: it’s this voice within that makes me sick – not my hope. Hope, even when deferred, is what brings me life. Listening to any voice that attempts to convince me otherwise is what feels like death.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick.
As my brain began ramping up (or continuing to spin, depending on your experience of me) I began to wonder about larger context. Here it is:
Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
But desire fulfilled is a tree of life.
Proverbs 13:12
Ah, indeed. And more context or synapse-connection in my brain? I instantly went to Psalm 1:
Oh, the joys of those
who do not follow the advice of the wicked,
or stand around with sinners
or join in with scoffers.
But they delight in doing everything the Lord wants;
day and night they think about God’s law.
They are like trees planted along the riverbank,
bearing fruit each season without fail.
Their leaves never wither,
and in all they do, they prosper.
But desire fulfilled is a tree of life. Like a tree planted along the riverbank that bears fruit. It doesn’t wither. It prospers. Translation? Hope and desire do not wither. They prosper! And the advice of the wicked, standing around with sinners, joining in with scoffers? For me, at least this morning, that’s what it looks and feels like when I listen to those inner voices that tell me not to hope. At least this morning, it’s not about who I hang out with, it’s about who I listen to – especially within myself. Those voices are the polar opposite of hope and desire. Hardly life-giving, they are carriers of sickness and death.
Now, at 3:07 a.m. I am thinking much about hope. And I am feeling hope. I have known it’s deferment many, many times. And that’s excruciating. But at least today, to have desire remain intact, to silence the sickness-filled voices inside, and to hope anew, again, ongoing? That feels like life – in all its fullness and precariousness and risk and beauty.
I choose life. I choose desire. I choose hope – whether deferred or (finally) fulfilled.
