Prisoner of Hope

I can see the light in many dark souls, or so I was told.

I can see the goodness in someone when it does not yet exist.

I can see the future glory of someone who would rather live for the moment.

Seeing like this is a divine gift, but it is also the cross I bear.  

Because of this, I have trusted people who should not be trusted; I have loved people who have broken my heart in return; and I have given second chances to people who threw the opportunities away.

Because of this gifted burden, I have become a fool. I allowed person after person to look me in the eyes and lie to me, but seeing only the good, I chose to trust them instead. I allowed person after person to tell me stories to cover up their darkness, and I believed them, because they claimed to now be walking in the light.

It’s a Friday and I’m driving to drop someone off when I see a girl on the corner selling herself who looks oddly familiar. She is beautiful, and I know that beauty very well. She is my own. Sure enough, we slow enough to make eye contact, as she’s nearly face to face at my window. She sees me and runs. I shake my head as my heart cracks again; it was only yesterday that she showed up at our apartment, apologizing for her nearly 2 month MIA behavior and promising she will visit more and that she’s not on the streets. Not that I should believe her by now, but the pain of seeing her at the same place she was delivered from nearly 11 years ago is a punch to chest that stuns my desire to stay in this ministry any longer. I’m a fool for believing her words and that she will change; and yet, maybe I am just a prisoner of hope.   

It’s a Wednesday and my nanny is at my apartment after taking Benji and Lucia to the bus station to get to school while I attend mass. I had discovered some recent alarming behaviors that seemed to have resurfaced from years back when she was in our home (she graduated from the home a year ago). But over the past year she had proven herself faithful and trustworthy, becoming one of my greatest blessings especially in regard to taking care of the kids since their mother abandoned us last Sept 2017 (without knowing the secrecy and deceit she was living when I wasn’t watching). But some recent confessions from others brought her lies to the forefront and I asked her plainly without her knowing that I know. Of course she refuses and continues to make up extravagant stories to cover the lies. Eventually, I cut it straight and call her out, informing her I know the truth. Instead of an apology, a confession, an acknowledgement, this almost mid-20 year old breaks into a near tantrum, pouring out tears and hurling faults at me that I don’t trust her and that what I’ve heard are all lies, and that of course, she is relentlessly telling the truth. Even when called to facts that can’t be opposed, her mindless pursuit to cover the truth exposes her even more. I have to finally tell her to leave my apartment, go collect herself, and come back to finish our conversation when she’s ready to talk about the truth. But she doesn’t return. In fact, she runs away, leaving her free rental house, her first pay check, and her entire family behind. All because she didn’t want to tell the truth. But the thing about truth is… it will find you, eventually. And more and more was discovered in her absence, of which are so shocking and hurtful I cannot even tell. Once again, I was a fool to fall for her pretense of light when she was meddling in darkness the whole time; and yet, maybe it’s a pretense of darkness and the reality of light that is just dimmed at the moment. So here I am, once again, a prisoner of hope.

And tonight, I have held one of my oldest girls in a hug as her tears soaked my shirt and her body shook with pain of betrayal; for we had both discovered that the young man who claimed he was planning to marry her someday was living a double life, dating two girls at once. This is not just any young man, this is the young man I called my son. The first of the first, 11 years ago, when I stepped foot in Swazi for the first time. He was before Hosea’s Heart, before the girls, before my dreams, before the 12 year old who changed my life forever; before all of them, he was the first I connected to, and he has never left my side for the past 11 years. In fact, he is the one who has saved my life on several occasions. It is this young man who has looked me (and many others) in the eyes for over a year as he lied and lied and lied. But what’s done in darkness will come to light. And it did, but it’s painful. To think a man I trusted above all others, a man I said is not like other Swazi men who date multiple women at once, a man whom I’ve bragged about even in his presence, went to extensive measures to cover up his double life, and it makes me dumbfounded to wonder how I could’ve been such a fool to fall for his falsity. And my heart breaks even more for not just his ex-girlfriend, but all the girls in our home who called him brother and looked up to him as a man set apart from the others, a man who renewed their own hope in Swazi men. I was a fool to think he could be/would be different; and yet again, I know he is – he is different, he is not like this – and I cry my own tears in my prison of hope.

Betrayal of this kind has worn my patience. I am tired. My vision is starting to fail, because all I see are disappointments amidst my own failure. Surely if three of the closest people to me are three of many who have chosen double lives, surely I have failed this mission, surely I have done something wrong. Choosing to see the good in someone after they have looked you in the eyes and lied, abused your love and grace, and continue to run away is absolutely EXHAUSTING. And it makes me feel completely foolish. Like, how did I miss this? Of course after I know the truth, then many others come out and say, “Oh yeah, I knew that…I just didn’t want to tell you…” like really?  Why am I the one falling for the goodness of others? Indeed it makes me feel weak, not strong. It makes me feel foolish, not wise. It makes me feel used, not loved.

But there’s a lyric that keeps repeating in my head, “To everyone who’s hit their limit, it’s not over yet, it’s not over yet. And even when you think you’re finished, it’s not over yet, it’s not over yet. Keep on fighting out of the dark into the light, it’s not over. Hope is rising. Never give in, never give up. It’s not over.” (It’s Not Over Yet by for King and Country)    

So I refuse. I refuse to give up. I choose to be a fool of this world if that means I am a victor in Christ. I choose to see. I choose to tell him he is a man of God, and even King David fell for the flesh but rose again in humility and fear of the Lord. I choose to pray for her, knowing she will one day return with a restored faith and vision to take Hosea’s Heart to places we have never yet been. I choose to tell her, “I love you,” when she calls me the day after I find her on the street, and I hear the tone in her voice break, like a chain falling to the ground. I choose to feed her and love her baby, because I know HER STORY IS NOT OVER YET.

But I am weak, and I am tired. So pray with me that I may continue to use my ability to see light in dark places as a gift and not a burden. Pray for truth and that the only fear would be the fear of the Lord. Pray that I can always remain a prisoner of Hope. 

"Christ IN us, the HOPE for Glory..." - Col 1:27