When hope becomes the weight that crushes you…
Advent Week 1: The Candle of Hope
To those who’ve tried to justify hopelessness:
There's a quote in Seinfeld where George says that hope is killing him, and being hopeless is his only hope. Lately, I’ve found myself joking about the idea of being more hopeless. If I’m honest, hope hurts sometimes. It’s led me to countless disappointments.
You know that phrase, “Don’t get your hopes up”? I’ve mastered it. I’m so good at not leading with hope. When a great opportunity comes my way, I try not to hope for the best. When there’s a chance of good news, I try not to hope it’s for me. My logic is simple: if I keep my hopes low, bad news won’t sting as much because I was already expecting it.
But here’s what’s wild—it never works. No matter how low I set my expectations, I’m still disappointed when things don’t go my way. Isn’t that wild? Isn’t that sad? This is how I’ve been living.
And yet, despite all of that, I still say, “My hope is in the promise of the cross.” But what does that even mean for someone like me?
As we settle in this first week of Advent, the call to meditate on hope feels both confronting and necessary. What does it look like to hold onto hope, even when it feels fragile or foolish? How do I reconcile the ache of hope with the truth of its promise?
1There are only two places to look for hope. You can search for it horizontally—seeking security, peace, and a sense of well-being in the things of creation—or you can seek it vertically, entrusting your life to the loving hands of your Creator.
Choosing the former will always lead to disappointment. Placing your hope in horizontal things—people, circumstances, or achievements—sets you up for a cycle of letdowns. It’s the kind of hope that teaches you not to hope at all, conditioning you to expect failure and live with the weight of constant disappointment.
Why? Because creation was never meant to satisfy your heart. It doesn’t have the power to be your savior. And until we face this truth, we’ll keep searching for hope in places that cannot deliver. Only vertical hope—the hope we find in God—can truly sustain us.
So, where can hope be found—a hope that will never disappoint or leave you ashamed?
It’s found in the One who alone is capable of carrying the weight of your hope.
This week I discovered something surprising: our Redeemer is dissatisfied. It’s not a word I’d typically associate with the Lord, but it’s true—He is dissatisfied. And what does a dissatisfied Savior do? He keeps working until the work is complete, until He is satisfied.
My husband and I have been watching Alex Cross on Amazon—it’s such a great show—and in one episode, Alex says of a serial killer, “He’s not going to stop until the work is done, until he’s satisfied.” Now, to be clear, I’m not comparing our Redeemer to a serial killer! But that word dissatisfied stuck with me.
It made me think: if even in His dissatisfaction, the Lord keeps working, how much more should we trust in His ability to redeem and restore? His dissatisfaction isn’t failure—it’s His relentless commitment to make all things new.
I want my hope to find its rest in that divine dissatisfaction. Rest in knowing that the Lord will not stop until His work is fully and perfectly complete. He does not abandon what He begins, nor does He grow bored, tired, discouraged, or distracted. He is passionately committed to one goal: the ultimate renewal of all things.
This is where I want to realign my hope—to be anchored in the promise of His return. He will come back to complete His work, and even now, He is tirelessly working toward that glorious end. That’s the hope I want to cling to. That’s the hope I get to cling to.
2And so I’m learning that true hope isn’t found in the fleeting things my heart often chases for satisfaction. It’s found in the holy dissatisfaction of my Redeemer, who is committed to making all things new.
Biblical hope doesn’t hinge on favorable conditions or clear evidence that things will improve. It’s a steadfast choice to hope regardless, anchored in the certainty of God’s past faithfulness. The resurrection of Jesus opened the door to a living hope—a hope that assures us the best is yet to come.
Christian hope is bold. It’s a defiant waiting for rescue from evil and death. It’s not mere optimism, which relies on circumstances looking promising. Instead, it’s a choice to trust that God will bring about a perfect future, even when the odds suggest otherwise. Optimism tries to see how things might work out. Hope declares that, with God, all things will be made right.
And so I wait…
And so we wait…
A lot of these ideas were shaped by reading New Morning Mercies by Paul David Tripp. I highly recommend it for your morning devotions—it’s so good!
I’m also gaining a better understanding of hope through the BibleProject’s Advent series.