Hope begins when the memory of what was becomes a longing for what is to be restored.
Or so Jan Meyers, the author of "The Allure of Hope," writes. It's true, isn't it? You get a glimpse of God's glory in the mountains OR his peace at a calm lake OR his beauty in a beautiful garden, and hope is renewed. Why? Because those are just reminders that His glory IS to be restored--the memory becomes a longing. It happens in lots of things. Just closing my eyes and remembering when I was once content, recalling that profound satisfaction, serves as my hope, my longing for it to be restored.
On a different perspective, Jan mentions Alanis' song "Not the Doctor." While Alanis is primarily talking about a particular man, many women can probably relate just in the generic sense of feeling like there's so much to do for others and so little time for self:
"I don't want to be the filler for voids solely others'. I don't want to be a bandage for wounds not mine. I don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to people. I don't want to be a babysitter for people old enough to care for themselves. I don't want to be another half when 1 and 1 makes 2. I don't want to be the glue that holds others together. I don't want to be idoled, as pedestals are high and I'm afraid of heights. And, I don't want to be responsible for other's fractured hearts."
Maybe these are just confused ramblings. That's what I thought when I first read through this section of Jan's book. Or, maybe I'm just running from ideals and searching for hope to stand against all the things I'm required to be--"you see, it's too much to ask for and I am not the doctor." My memory of one simple role leaves me longing to be again restored to that one simple role.
But, not really. I was reading the end of Taming of the Shrew when Katherine is tamed, and Petruchio wants others to see and know for sure. He tells Katherine to tell the other women "what duty they do owe their husbands." Katherine goes into a long speil of women's role of submission, support, being taken care of by her man, knealing in peace when that is what our soft, weak bodies are made to do.
It's overwhelming to me, because I tend to side with Alanis. I want to care for myself and be a whole by myself. Not just in association with others, but I've noticed lately it's also in my relationship with God. My life is just one long reenactment of The Taming of the Shrew. But that's okay. Because the little girl in me that knew how to relinquish control and allow others to see her needs, that same memory gives me hope that this shrew can yet be tamed.
