Among the most precious promises that anchor a Christian’s hope in the present is Jesus’ parting promise before His ascension: “I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:20). That means that Jesus is with us in all kinds of days—both in weakness and in power, in happiness and in hurricanes—and He promises to be with us every day until the end of all days. It’s important to remember that Jesus made this promise after His resurrection, so the promise is good on both sides of the grave. 

In the wake of Hurricane Helene, I write amid the sound of blaring sirens, whining chainsaws, and humming generators. Yesterday in the raging dawn, live power lines burned in our yard, trees fell, our basement flooded, and my wife, Debbie, had a moment of despair. But after we finished bailing water out bucket by bucket, she took hold of the situation and embraced it. With a drop cord plugged into a neighbor’s generator, she made coffee (which made me more hopeful) and put soup on to heat in the slow cooker. Her contagious hopefulness didn’t stop the storm, restore power, or raise fallen trees, but it did brighten a dark day. Her hopefulness became helpfulness as she extended coffee and soup to the neighbors on our storm-battered street.

Where did such hope come from? I’ve seen Debbie’s hopefulness grow over the years of my cancer journey. It’s a daily hope that comes from knowing that God is with her and in control even when—especially when—we’re not in control (which is actually all the time). Seeing Debbie take hold of hope and joy (although sometimes mixed with tears) reminded me of the passage in Proverbs 31. Speaking of the virtuous woman, it says, “She laughs at the times to come” (v. 25). What kind of person can laugh at the times to come? Someone who is filled with hope—a real, solid, God’s-got-this, confident expectation for ultimate and lasting good.

The New Testament word for hope is a general one that can be used as we commonly use the term, too. For example, a few weeks ago during the summer’s drought, I often said, “I hope it rains.” But today, as dark clouds gather over the flooded ruins left by the hurricane, I’m saying, “I hope it doesn’t rain!” This is the normal sense in which we use the word hope—a desire for some future good. But as with my rain example, our hopes are more like wishes, and they change like the weather.

That’s not to say that such hope is useless—not at all. Having a desire for good that might or might not come is the way that God has wired all of us. It is healthy for us to be hopeful in our everyday lives, and such hope is a gift of common grace. It’s this hope that helps us plant gardens, build houses, stock shelves, follow a recipe, read a book, and teach a child. Yet this hope is frequently bruised by disappointment—sometimes even despair. A canceled flight, a broken promise, or a doctor’s saying “It’s cancer” can crush our hopes and upend our plans for a day—or even a lifetime. Such are the vicissitudes of life. As O. Henry put it in his brilliant telling of “The Gift of the Magi,” “Life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.”

But there is a hope that goes beyond wishes, beyond the horizons of our broken world. That hope is in Christ and from Christ and for Christ. It is a certain and lasting hope that is bound up not in our circumstances but in a person whose name is Faithful and True (see Rev. 19:11). Because of Christ’s sovereign, saving work, His people have a hope that is a sure and steadfast anchor for the soul (Heb. 6:19). A hope that is certain and steadying is not a hope of our own making—rather, it is a hope that Jesus made secure by His death, burial, and resurrection.

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