I Choose to Hope

The other day, I was sitting on my couch in my new living room, looking at the bare walls and the mismatched furniture and feeling overwhelmed at my approach to the decorating process.  Preston and I don't want  to "wait" to live.  During this crazy graduate school process, we decided that we'll be happiest if we see ourselves in the middle, enjoying every day rather than wishing away the time until it's over.  As a result of that perspective, I'm putting more energy into our new home, creating a place that feels settled and organized--a sanctuary for us both during a time of challenge and discomfort.

I'm trying to be a good grad school student spouse, but oh boy has it been hard to find a routine.  Both Preston and I have been feeling a bit overwhelmed lately.  He is hammered with internship applications, career fairs, meetings and seminars, interviews, his graduate assistantship, and regular classes and homework.  I've been applying for jobs but haven't been enthused about any kind of work. I want work doing what I love--something I'll feel motivated to do for 40 hours a week.  I can't seem to determine what that is.  Right now I just want to stay home to cuddle my dog and decorate.

Back to the couch: I was staring at paint chips and color palettes, a bit anxious because I could feel the pressure that the husband was under while he worked in the other room.  And then Syria happened.  In no time I'm listening to news of murdered civilians, chemical weapons, and rumors of U.S. involvement and a divided government.  This was not the shot of hope we both needed so badly.

I sat back into the couch cushions as my perspective completely disassembled.  I felt awful for wanting to paint my walls and worrying about color palettes when others were worrying about chemical warfare.  I felt awful for desiring a stimulating job and having ambition--I told myself I should be satisfied with whatever job I got, because it would be a job.  I felt selfish and shallow for stressing about graduate school and wanting to go about the process in the right way, because who cared?  What mattered was staying alive.  I felt so guilty for being American and privileged.

I sat--my world gray--a bit stunned, when an image of a little Syrian child came to mind. Thin and wearing dirty linen, he nevertheless smiled a beautiful, happy, smile, and then gently began to pick up the pieces of my scattered mind, holding each thought with consideration and reverence.  He made a beautiful picture out of these jumbled pieces, and I knew that this child, brought up in a world of bigotry, cruelty, and fear, wanted me to dream big, to hope--hope even in small things like matching place mats and warm cookies.  He looked at me, holding his beautiful creation, and requested that I never limit my own happiness for the presumed sake of the sufferer.  Because it would not help that sufferer.  I imagine those lost little children who are angels so soon are grateful that my concern is not about civil war.  My concerns involve stretching my heart and my mind.  Managing my time and finances.  Building relationships.  Making the most out of the crazy that is grad school.  I do have concerns.  This is a challenging time for the husband and me.  We're easily swayed by anxiety and doubt.  Hope has been elusive.  Those challenges are real in their nature.

And a little Syrian child in my head taught me (again) that I need not regret a life where such are my challenges.  I am free to revel in the beauty that surrounds me, to love a bouquet of roses from my husband given in the pureness of his heart.  Though others suffer, it's okay for me to water my roses.

So that evening, for the sake of good, Preston and I regrouped.  We committed to choose hope, to act rather than be acted upon.  We will dream, seek greater heights, and live happily because what else is there to do in the face of suffering?

I tell you what, that next morning was indeed lovely and bright.