I’m not sure when it hit me. The feeling of hope. Maybe it hit as the guys and I pulled up to the waffle house after playing our first show. Maybe it came as I sat in a coffee shop listening my demos for the first time. No matter where, hope has been working its way back into my bones for the last year. Until it stopped.
For most of the spring I held this strange hope that big things would happen to me in June. Something about a timeline brought me solace in the monotony of the spring. It kept me believing—there is good on the horizon. Keep working, keep pushing, good is coming.
If you believe in Jesus, you’ve probably been told to put your hope in him. Hope in Jesus, he is hope—some variation of this. I told myself over and over to do so. But somewhere along the way my hope shifted from believing God would bring good to the good I planned on him bringing. I took what he said and put it on a planner.
Now I’m not saying we shouldn’t be hopeful. In fact if I’m believing what he says is true, it’s natural to feel hopeful! But my hope shouldn’t be far off, it should be in the everyday.
One March morning as my band and I pulled into the waffle house, I realized—I’m doing it. I’m living my dream. I just played my songs for people and they listened. I played with people who believe in my music and for people who loved it. These are the glory days. There are good days to come but these are just as beautiful. I’d hate to miss them because I’m believing those magic moments are around the bend. I’d hate to miss them because I’m believing the next thing, person or place will bring more joy than my present ones. If I do, I’ll be on that ferris wheel forever, forever missing what’s right in front of me.