Finding Hope at 1 a.m.

Last night I watched each hour pass me by.

11 p.m. Midnight. 1 a.m.

I tossed and turned and pulled the duvet over me, and off again. I stared at my favorite white light reflecting in the windows from the snow.

I thought of the garland I hoped to make for my tree.

And I wrestled with this heaviness I battle, this depression that sometimes battles me late in the night.

While I lay there, I thought about God, the God who is love, who has created love. And all love somehow points in some way to Him. That true Love, the one that sees past brokenness, that hopes, that believes.

And I prayed a simple prayer, in that dark hour of the morning, a prayer filled with hands and heart held open. God, fill me with love to love this life you’ve given me. I can’t do it on my own – but you can pour your love in me, to pour out. Let me be your vessel, and let me love this life that you’ve given me.

{Because I don’t know if you’re ever like me when life is simply hard to love. Because there’s despair, and there’s brokenness, and there’s hopelessness.}

But I know that we love because He first loved us. And I want to love this life, with arms held open and joy and wonder found in the twinkling of lights, in the bubbles popping in a hot bath, in the colour of the red poinsettias in my living room. Somehow I want to love this life in a way that shows the one who pours His Love into me, every day, in every breath, and every word.

And today, a sweet answer to prayer, was a very different day. There was much more hope in my heart. There was no despair. There were no feelings of the weight of depression. There was love – for the smell of pine, for the comfort of adoptive family, for the full days ahead.

He’s found in all of this, you know – and maybe He is waiting for us to ask the right question, maybe He’s waiting for us to find Him in the darkness. For whatever reason, I found hope at 1 a.m. – in my questions, in my darkness, in my offering. And I am singing joyful prayers of thanks today.