Our Hinson Hope

As we first began to dream about this family, we had high hopes. We imagined. We dreamed. We prayed. We knew it would have its challenges, but in spite of everything common sense seemed to be telling us (sometimes through the mouths of others), we planned to put together an uncommon family. The challenges first presented themselves through document difficulties and waiting periods that seemed forever long. We clung to our hopes. We imagined that the waiting would only make us all the more grateful for the outcome. We dreamed about six full chairs around the dinner table; six smiling faces in a family photo; six sets of linked hands in prayer. We prayed away the documents difficulties and the weight of the wait. Then it all became a reality. Those high hopes turned to dashed hopes. Those dining chairs were full...full of complaints. The smiles in the family photo were not genuine- elicited by a desperate father. "Do this for your mother." Prayers became a part of the chore chart. Hope became a thing of the past. We had moved from hope to hard work. And it was just not any fun at all. Days felt like weeks. Weeks felt like months. Months felt like years. And then one day we emerged from the fog, staggering. We were not the same, nor were we better. We were just alive. And we began to see one another more clearly. The evidence of the struggle we had been through was all around us. The casualties lay in shadowy places around our home and in our hearts- the families we were, the individuals we were, the homes we once had, the languages we had spoken, the dreams we had undone. We began the arduous process of burying the dead and creating a life in the broken world around us. It was a new world...to us all. And through the many months of recovery from what felt like a full on war in our home, I never imagined we could hope again. I laughed a little at the title of this blog. Hinson Hope. Ha! Hinson...hope we don't lose our patience today. Hope we don't lose our minds. Hope we don't lose our faith. Hope we can forgive our children for being children- and ourselves for being human. Hope we can make our minds up about what kind of parents we want to be- loving, patient, forgiving...strict, enforcers of a law with no mercy...your best friend...your worst nightmare...the stranger, locked in the master bedroom. Hope we can survive. And one day, I began to think maybe that's what real hope is- not a picture you paint in your head, but a lot of hard work for an outcome you CAN'T see- when many others would choose to walk away. Hope is struggling through the mud ahead when there's dry ground behind you. Hope is holding the sweaty hand of a teenager when all you have to do is let go. Hope is hard. Today, as I spoke with my son, he reached out and held my hand. It wasn't a conversation that required a declaration of emotion. We were just filling one another in on our days. In that moment, I experienced just a touch of hope fulfilled. I imagine that's what heaven will be- complete fulfillment of all our hopes. That's when all the work will be worth it. Then, and only then, will my heart feel settled in the way things are. Day by day, we renew our hope. Day by day, we choose to fight and not to flee. That is our Hinson Hope.