by Lauren Goldbloom
“I lift up my eyes…”
When I picture hope, I see those two pairs of dark brown eyes looking up, believing in something more.
“…to the mountains…”
Where to turn? What hill after this valley? What refuge after this battle?
They’ve begged her to put the bottle down, pleaded. They want to see her smile, laugh, check their homework, do the dishes. Be there. Yet deeper into the valley she goes, towing them along.
“Where does my help come from?”
Is there a place where help flows down, where you can drink hope like water? They’d travel anywhere, wouldn’t they? Search high and low for this help, this well.
But hope is here. Because Hope has come. He has seen those eyes, felt the wet of their tears. And has come to be there.
I read the words aloud to these precious children, “My help comes from the Lord, Maker of heaven and earth.”
These words, truth spoken into their life, have been sung over me as well…
We could squeeze more than 50 of us high-schoolers into that living room. Every Tuesday night we came, gathered, prayed, grew friendships, told stories of Hope come and coming. In that giant circle we sang to our Maker. And we also sang to each other. Sang that precious truth that Help has come. One guitar and tens of yearning voices raised this psalm of hope.
I must now sing these words to them. Their Help has come. Even where I cannot be, He is there. Hope has come.
May that truth ring in their ears, in mine, in yours…