We were talking, and then an invisible veil cloaked her eyes. Have you ever seen that happen? When you’re speaking with someone, and suddenly, you can tell they’ve completely checked out?

In this case, I was talking to a dear friend who’s going through a horribly difficult season, and when the subject of hope came up, I watched her shut down. She was still nodding and trying to listen, but I could tell her heart had left the conversation. When that happens, you can always see it in their eyes.

I finished my thought because I felt like the Holy Spirit was compelling me to, but then I asked her, “You’ve shut down, huh?” She answered honestly, “I did. A few minutes ago. How could you tell?” It didn’t take a psychiatrist to see her brain had checked out of the conversation.

We went on to talk about hope, and how hard it could be sometimes. She shared a story from her past with me—a time when people told her to keep hoping and pray for a miracle, but her miracle never came. My heart hurt so deeply for her, but I was proud she understood where the disconnect came from and that she was letting God into those places.

Later, I thought about how hard it is to hope in some seasons—when just the mere mention of hope makes you terrified or even angry. I thought of at least two instances in my life, one past and one present.

First, there was our fundraising journey with FamilyLife (Cru). We knew (and still do) that God called us into the fundraising process. When we started, everyone told us how hard it would be because of the size of our family. Nevertheless, we were hopeful!

A year passed, and we weren’t anywhere near where we needed to be. Throughout the second year, we saw all of our friends finish their initial fundraising and get onboarded into their positions. We were so incredibly happy for them—but we were also devastated.

Month after month passed, and sometimes, I told Hope he could take a flying leap off a short pier because I was done with him. Then, I read Romans 5:1-5—and I was even more incensed.

First, let’s consider verses 2-5 (HCSB, emphasis added):

And not only that, but we rejoice in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces, proven character, and proven character produces hope. And this hope will not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

Oh yeah—I was BIG mad. My conversation with God went something like this: “Are you serious right now, God? We were faithful and went out on a limb! Heck, at this point, we’ve gone out on several limbs because You told us to! And we’re being afflicted for it! Not only that—to quote you—You want us to rejoice in it! And here’s the thing God, this says that the affliction produces HOPE, a hope that doesn’t disappoint, but I am so utterly disappointed!”

Does it sound like a spoiled child yelling at a parent? It should because that’s what it was. Like a child, I didn’t understand what was happening, and that was scary. I was hurt and terrified, and I took it out on the parent I knew would love me anyway, the one I know is always safe—my heavenly Father.

Then, I reread the whole passage again ,starting with verse 1, and the beginning makes a difference: “Therefore, since we have been declared righteous by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. We have also obtained access through Him by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.”

The reason I was so bent out of shape was because my hope was in an outcome. I wanted God to give me what I thought he owed me. Ouch. That hurts to even write it. Nevertheless, it’s the truth. I thought, “God called us into this, so we should be successful. We were following His will.”

These verses made me reconsider that. Would I follow God into failure, be humiliated, for the hope of God’s glory? And how, I wondered, could our failure even bring God glory? I had to decide if I was willing to be a fool for God. The short answer? Yes, but I didn’t like it.

It remained a hard pill to swallow for a while, and I meandered between what seemed to be a hopeless situation and the hope of God’s glory.

In the end, we failed spectacularly, and it was all for His glory AND our good. When the Bible says that God “is able to do above and beyond all that we ask or think,” (Ephesians 3:20) it’s absolutely not an exaggeration.

A friend reminded me today of a meme that went around in the past. It showed a picture of Jesus trying to take a tiny bear from a crying little girl, but she couldn’t see He had a far better, larger teddy bear behind his back waiting for her. That’s kind of how this story feels to me.

Yes, we failed. As the three year mark approached in our fundraising venture with FamilyLife, we had to lean in hard to God. We asked Him what He wanted us to do, and we took the opportunity to dream again with Him. When we did, Seeking the Symphony—this humble, fledgling ministry—rose to the forefront. It has been our dream since the beginning of our marriage, but we thought with God calling us toward FamilyLife, it wasn’t meant to be. Or at least, it wasn’t meant to be in this season.

What we saw then was no less than miraculous. In ways we could never have imagined, God placed us where we needed to be to start this ministry and has provided every step along the way. I won’t say it’s not hard because it most definitely is, but it’s so very worth it. Furthermore, we still get to work with our local FamilyLife team, which is a wonderful bonus blessing.

In short, God did what we could have never imagined in a way we would never have thought. He placed us where He wanted us and He prepared us for the journey. We needed to go through those three years of suffering because he needed to build endurance in us because “…the testing of your faith produces endurance. But endurance must do its complete work, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing” (James 1:3-4 HCSB). Now, things are still hard, but we know that He’s continuing to grow us for whatever lies ahead.

You might think, because of this revelation, that I’d be beyond fear of hope. If so, you’d be wrong.

Recently, God put an idea on my heart and pressed me to follow through—so I wrote a book. It’s a weird mash-up of fiction, memoir, and Christian spiritual development that, like the duck-billed platypus of the book-world. I would never have conceived of it on my own. I wrote the first draft in four days. It’s a mess, and it’s still in the editing stages…but I wrote a book…a whole one.

You’d think, as a writer, I would be on cloud nine, worshiping with the angels! Certainly, once it was complete, I was glad; but when my daughter, Destiny, asked me how I was feeling about it, I shut down. I told her it was no big deal. “Everyone and their mother has written a book at this point, so I doubt it’ll matter. I was obedient, but it probably won’t mean anything.”

She was indignant. “But, Mom, YOU WROTE A BOOK. And maybe it will be something! Maybe people will read it!” I didn’t like that one bit. That hope felt scary. It felt like the fear of falling again, the fear of failing again.

What if people don’t read it? Or infinitely worse, what if people read it, and they utterly hate it? What if it sucks?

But God…He reminded me that, no matter what, He’s in control. He will use (or not use) my writing, my voice, in whatever way He chooses, and it will be for my good and His glory. My hope can’t be in being a best-selling author, a sought-after speaker, or any other good, but ultimately shallow goal. My hope must be in Him alone—His goodness; His grace; His glory.

So, friend, though it’s hard—to be brave and risk falling again and again-—I would encourage you to dare to hope in Him. He alone knows what’s ahead of you, He alone can guide you, and He alone will sustain you.

Because of that, I leave you with this prayer: “Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you believe in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13).

To that, I say Amen.