Some Days Are Hope Chests

Our friend Roger lost the love of his life last Thursday. Tom was a vibrant man who died suddenly. Roger told us he needed to stay in the present moment because memories were painful and a life without Tom was unimaginable.

Back in the day, there was a piece of furniture called a hope chest. A hope chest was a large trunk used by a young woman to collect items in anticipation of married life. With many of us marrying later in life, a hope chest today can be the size of a two bedroom apartment with a storage bin.

Right now and for some time to come, Roger needs a hope chest.  Not to store household items but to store hope. In the midst of grief and loss, hope is illusive, fleeting at best. It is hard to hope when all you can feel is a heavy heart.

At times like these, friends and family become hope chests. We hold on to hopes and dreams for the person who has lost. We carry hope until he can hope again. Until he can dream again. Until the memories are not painful. Until he is strong enough to revise his dream and dream again.

I think this is true for all people experiencing all forms of loss and trauma. I believe it is just as true for people with amazing faith. We know the story of the Amish community in Lancaster, Pennsylvania who, almost immediately, forgave the man who killed their daughters. They were hanging on to the promises of God. That was their hope chest.

Having a hope chest does not take away the pain. No one can do that. Even those Amish people felt deep, dark pain.

I wish Roger the peace of no expectations. I wish him the strength to allow others to carry what he needs until the time he can hope and dream again.