On Monday of this week (September 5th), I was getting a ride to work for an early morning shift when the driver commented on how beautiful the sunrise was that morning. I quickly snapped the picture at the top of this post.
It reminded me of how, in August 2022, I commented here on battling the depression monster. In the post, I referenced this song by Canadian rockers The Tragically Hip (lyrics here).
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As the song concludes, the band’s late singer Gord Downie intones:
Don’t you want to see how it ends?
When the doors are just starting to open?
The sunrise was a beginning of a new day not beholden to its predecessors. It was a nice gesture; God breaking out His paintbrushes for a grand display over the hills dotted with windmills attempting to harness sufficient energy for keeping the lights and air conditioners on in California amid the state’s obligatory Labor Day heatwave. Despite the imbeciles in state and local government’s best efforts to ruin the place in the name of protecting it, California is a land of tremendous variety and beauty, far outshining man’s efforts to “improve” things.
One of depression’s many great lies is what constitutes the now is all there is and all there ever will be, thereby stripping hope out of the picture. You don’t need to be depressed to believe things aren’t going to change in life or, at best, will not be changing until irreparable harm has transpired. A recent video by President Trump articulates this point well.
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Yet there is hope; hope based not on illogical flights of fantasy but tangible evidence woven throughout our lives.
Hope is the young woman I know who survived horrific abuse during childhood — at the hands of family members, no less — yet has found help and healing in Jesus. It has not been a smooth road; it never is. But she’s stuck with it through the down moments and is now reaping the rewards of her hard work. A healthy body, free from the morbid obesity that once dragged her down. A supportive church. A loving fiancé, with the wedding date coming up shortly. The healing has no conclusion; scars remain. Yet there is healing.
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Hope is neither yesteryear’s faded relic nor the artificially sweetened offspring of lollipop dreams in a cotton candy sky. Hope is Christ reminding us that before the empty tomb, there was the Cross. On a more temporal plane, hope is the child working away in his or her parent’s yard to earn their allowance, proudly proclaiming to anyone who asks why he or she is so intensely laboring, “My parent’s ain’t raisin’ no Democrat!”
There is hope, and there will be a tomorrow. Matters can and do seem quite dreary on multiple personal and professional fronts. It is understandable why many fall into despair. But we don’t have to remain there. We can help one another by bringing information the mainstream media conveniently forgets to mention regarding the feckless Biden Administration’s multiple failures, or offering a genuine hand of compassion to someone who’s down and out. We can and should look forward to the upcoming elections this November and November 2024, fighting the good fight and doing everything within our power to turn out the vote. New sunrises are waiting, ones we can see with the tired eyes of faith even as we eagerly await our resurrection day. In the meanwhile, keep fighting and smiling behind enemy lines.
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