Paul encourages us that trials produce perseverance, and perseverance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint (Romans 5). Character is something “true and proven.” I’d like to suggest, at least in part, that the proof being produced in us as we hope in God through trials is Christ-likeness. And in that case, hope surely does not disappoint.
I admit I struggle with the idea that hope doesn’t disappoint. Mainly because I’m alive, and to be alive means to face disappointment. When my husband died of cancer, it was beyond disappointing. As Christians, we often misunderstand the reality of disappointment. It is easy to get caught on a merry-go-round of self-evaluation when that happens. Am I a bad Christian because I feel disappointed? Did I have enough faith? Is God even real? Does he hear me?
Friends, that is not the Father’s heart for us. Placing our hope in God was never intended to make us doubt our qualities as Christians or rate our performance as children of God. Life has disappoints. Period. But hope has an end product that does not disappoint.
I’m learning that when we hope in God, the heartache we experience in life is fleeting. Temporary. Hope in God means there is something more trustworthy than the pain and disappointment that we are currently working through. Hope in God looks like abiding, as Jesus taught us to do. It looks like life. It looks like fruitfulness and proof, and… character.
…character produces Hope, and hope does not disappoint, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. Romans 5:5
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Excerpt from Verse. No.67 “The Branch”
“…He wasn’t hasty or brutal in his approach. Tenderly, he removed the dreams hanging on the limb. He placed each one in a pocket that was on the inside his apron, right next to his heart. “Don’t worry, child, I’ll carry those for you,” the vinedresser assured me. But my concern heightened again as he began to unwrap the hope from the branch. “Careful!” I cried out. The vine gave extra support at the tremble in my voice. The vinedresser stopped. “Come, help me,” always inviting me. The vine lowered me down and loosened its embrace. I walked over to the vinedresser. He placed my hand in his. Together we removed the string of hope twisted around the frail branch with measured intention, not damaging a single thread. “Your hope has no future on this branch, but in me it is safe,” the vinedresser softly spoke as he pulled out the top of his apron making a cup. “Will you give me your hope?” I raised the coiled hope over the rim of his apron and lowered it down on the inside. Peaking over the edge, I watched my hope take its place.”
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