Hard Fought Hope

2014 is my year of hope, but I am fighting for it.  I am in that window where I am struggling trying to wrap my arms around this being all there is in my life—wondering where the laughter and fun went.  My life is busy, but I want more than busy, but I am staring down the fact that this very well might be it.  Standing still and doing nothing is not a choice that I am going to make.


For many years, I have told one of my children who has always seemed especially blessed that to whom much is given, much is asked.  Perhaps I was given so much because much was going to be asked, but I will never forget something that made me love and understand my father on a whole new playing field.  Shortly after Phil had been killed, I went and spent time with my parents.  My dad wept.  He told me that it should have been him and not Phil.  He told me that he didn’t understand because my Phil was such a good man in terms of being a husband, father, son-in-law, and military man.  He told me one more thing that causes me to catch my breath still—He told me that he wished that he could fix the hurts in me.


Some of you know that there have been times when my relationship with my father was rocky and when we didn’t understand each other.  It doesn’t matter now, but there were times when my dad didn’t speak to me, but in that moment I realized something profound.  My father loved me enough to want to take my pain and to fix my heart.  He felt helpless . 


Little did I realize that I would lose my father less than two years later.  It will be a year on 6 March.  Sometimes it is hard to wrap my arms around the fact that the two men in my life that were my steadying anchors are gone, yet I realized something a few months back.  If I stop living and taking care of myself, then essentially my life is over.  For Phil and my dad, two vital and incredibly smart and stubborn men, I simply must start taking back my life even if it means going in for all of the medical tests that I have avoided for three years.  They did not have a choice, but I do.


The choice is simply this.  I choose happiness.  I choose to find a way to make my life count.  I choose to move past the pity party and to change.  I have learned that investing in people and in a purpose bigger than a pay check matters more than making more money, status, and status quo.  I know that I cannot go back to budgets and staffing.  Whether or not I actually live waiting, hoping, and seeking a chapter two, it is more important to me to follow this blazing fire in my heart.  The strange thing is that I have never felt so compelled to live a life of purpose.  I was content being the mom of five amazing children and the wife of one amazing man. 


Who am I?  Where do I belong?  In my year of hope, I need sparkles and polka dots.  I know that things are going to change.  As I fight for my happiness and for being content, I know two things.  The first is that I have two angels that want me to be happy and that I know first hand the promises of Romans 5: 3-5:

     “We rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.  And hope does not disappoint us.”  2014….my year of hope…hard fought hope.


  1. […] Hard Fought Hope. […]

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