What is hope?

Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible, and achieves the impossible.  Helen Keller

Hope is a wish or a confidence. It is also an expectation for something that we consider possible. 

"But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience." Romans 8:25

"You are my hiding place and my shield; I hope in your word." Psalm 119:114 

When I was little, every Christmas revolved around one fervent wish: a bright, gleaming scooter.
Year after year, I pleaded for it—utterly convinced my mother would one day understand just how much I needed that scooter, how nothing else could compare.

But Christmas morning always brought something else: paint-by-numbers kits, new underwear, dolls with tiny wardrobes, wooden toys lovingly crafted by my uncle, and tangerines tucked into my stocking. I was grateful… but crushed. My hope was dashed so many Decembers in a row that I eventually stopped asking—or simply outgrew the dream.

Still, the longing never truly disappeared. Decades later—well into my 50s—I bought an electric bike with a built-in scooter mode. The moment I rolled onto the driveway, I erupted in laughter and praise: God had finally answered my childhood prayer! I spun in giddy circles while my bewildered husband looked on, wondering what miracle had just unfolded.

Hope & Faith
Hope is the daring wish we cradle in our hearts—the confident expectation that something good can happen, even when we can't yet see it.

Faith goes a step further: it's the deep-down assurance that what we've asked for will come to pass. Sometimes that assurance settles over me like a quiet knowing—so certain I can almost feel it in my bones.

Take my twenties, for instance. I sent a book proposal to Doubleday—one of the biggest publishing houses of the time—despite everyone insisting my chances were "slim to none." I refused to accept that. Two weeks after mailing the proposal, a calm certainty rose within me: They're going to buy it. I told my boss I'd soon be resigning, bought a secondhand electric typewriter, and waited.

Four weeks later, a letter from Doubleday arrived: Yes, we want your book.

Hope had paired with faith, and faith bore fruit. That moment changed my life.

Of course, I don't always receive such crystal-clear assurance. Often I simply hope, believe, and watch to see what God will do. But when that unshakable knowing comes, I can bank on it—because God always comes through.

Still, prayer isn't a magic wand, and Jesus isn't a divine vending machine. We don't get everything we ask for; we receive what aligns with His will and wisdom. He sifts our requests and grants what is truly best. King David modeled this beautifully—he prayed, waited expectantly, and scanned the horizon for God's answer.

That's how I want to live: hoping, believing, and watching for the moment when heaven's yes finally rolls into view.