Sitting here on the eve of 2016, I can’t help but reflect on the crazy, whirlwind of a year Adam and I had.
Let’s just say it was not the year we were expecting.
We started out the year freezing in a beautiful town on the base of a mountain. Our minds filled with new words and sounds with each passing day. We struggled to adapt, to understand, to live far away from home. And we grew in love for this country that captured out hearts many years prior.
Halfway through the year we took a break – a reprieve – and came back home. We ate too much food, met with some of our greatest friends and families (our heroes really), and rested. And it was a deep rest. A rest that settled deep into our bones.
Little did we know it was a preparation for the journey ahead.
July 22, 2015 dramatically changed our lives forever.
Our plans suddenly came to a stand still. We weren’t going back to the country we had grown to love.
The remaining months were a battle to regain our perspective. We grieved loss. We asked for a new vision. We clung to each other. We surrendered our right to a consistent place to call home. And we hoped.
Hope is an odd thing. It’s often linked with joy, happiness or elation. But that doesn’t even scratch the surface of hope.
Hope runs deep. It can anchor a soul but also propel it on adventures far greater than one’s imagination. Hope heals. And hope thrives right in the middle of sorrowful expectation.
2016 promises to bring redemption for all our confusion and struggle of the past year. I don’t feel as confident as I once did to say, “Bring it on! I’ll take whatever you can throw at me!” But I can look steadily at the future with great, unwavering, growing HOPE.