Hope In The Dark Recesses Of The Night

There are stories I tell myself in the dark recesses of the night. When exhaustion has somehow given way to insomnia. When the ease of joy has faded with the setting sun and grief has slipped into the room with the shadows of the night. 

When I was a little girl I woke up my father one night and told him that nightmares were keeping me awake. He told me to lay back down and to imagine all the good things what I wanted to dream about. He taught me that I had to power to change my dreams, to sway my heart. The wisdom of fatherhood in action.

The telling of stories came naturally to me, even then. And as I grew up, I found other ways to share my stories. Eventually coming to settle into the consistent action of blogging. Sharing my stories with my small corner of the world. 

But sometimes I still feel like the little girl I once was, with nightmares threatening to keep me awake. And, unfortunately, those nightmares can sometimes be real, existing in the sunlight just as much as they do in the dark. 

So, what do I do when I cannot lull myself to sleep with the sweet promises of good dreams? When the sheep are uncountable and the darkness seems just too dark for the light to seep in. 

What do I do after I have been tragically ripped from the greatest dream I have ever lived and placed in a nightmare that is so unrecognizable?

I have found that it can be so hard to start dreaming again, after having such a nightmare invade my life. I find myself afraid to close my eyes and unwilling to tell myself a new dream, a new hope, a new story. Because what if this one turns into a nightmare as well? How can I survive yet another broken dream? Is it not better to expect that dark things, the broken things? There can be no room for disappointment if I can only deny these hopes and expect the brokenness.

It's simpler, I think, to lay aside the hope of redemption and the joy of dreams. Easier to accept that life is broken and so am I. 

But are we called too easy? Were we designed for the simple? 

I write about these, the cancelling of dreams, the abandoning of hope. But, I am here to tell you, my heart has never been able to accomplish the things, even when my mind demanded that my heart throw it all away. 

Hopes and dreams, they continue to blossom in my soul, day after day. I lay in bed at night and I cannot help but whisper that new dream to my weary heart. The Spirit that lives inside me reminds me, time and time again, of the great goodness of God, of the redeeming sacrifice of Jesus, and of the true hope of salvation. 

True hope, the everlasting hope that exists only in the arms of our savior, doesn't ever fade. It waits in the recesses of our hearts for the time when we are able to dream again. It's unassuming and humble, simply existing in the truth of the scriptures and in a life lived for the Lord. But it is always there, even in the darkest of times.

I am so very thankful that I have an earthly father who taught me the kind of power that I have over myself. The influence that I can wield over my heart and mind goes far beyond the telling of stories. It exists in the choice every single day to see the good, to feel the joy, and to embrace the hope. And I am so very thankful that I have a heavenly Father who promises those things for my life even when I am too afraid to believe in them. 

So, this is the story that I will sing to my heart in the dark recesses of the night: Joy and hope come in the morning, but they still exist in the night, humbly waiting for you to call upon them.