I think most of us go through life hoping for a lot of things, without giving “hope” much of a definition in our lives. We hope for better paying jobs, that tomorrow we will be feeling better than we are today, that our marriages will have just a tad more romance, that the sun will shine after days of rain and that our children will see the many gifts they have been given. We all have this inner hope, which makes us believe that there is a better day, a better way of living, and a light after darkness. You hope for things quite simply that you do not have and sometimes can’t even see having.

On the day our fondest hopes are realized is the day in which life will be good, life will be fulfilled: life will have meaning.

Some people are masters at hoping in a big way. We call these people “dreamers.” Something about them makes us want to wake them up to the reality of life and the reality of their situation. They base their life goals on their hopes. They can see in their mind’s eye those hopes being fulfilled. They inwardly make us crazy when their hopes and dreams come true. And secretly we wish that we had hoped in as big of a way as they did.

Most of us are realistic hopers. We hope for little things that if not met, won’t rock our world. We just hope that the computer doesn’t go down while we are writing our article, that our day will be simple without many complications and that new recipe our spouse is trying for dinner will taste halfway decent. My hospice patients are realistic hopers. They hope that they can be a blessing to someone during their day, that those who interact with them will be kind, that their medicine doesn’t turn their stomachs, and that there will be a little ice with their water.

Whether we hope in a big way or in small doses, we all hope. Hope is like breathing—when you are born, you just do it. No one sits you down and says

“OK, here is how to hope and you need to listen, because this is going to be really important for the rest of your life.”

You innately know to hope, even as a baby: “I hope someone can hear my cry so my diaper can get changed, I hope someone comes along to feed me, and I hope someone notices this Cheerio in my nose!”

I have contemplated lately what it would be like to not have this simple four-letter word. What would happen if I simply gave up on that “h” word? What if I couldn’t have hope? What if life just didn’t deliver it, after I had hoped for so long? Would I just give up and give in? Or would I wait patiently and continue to hope? Unfortunately a lot of my hospice patients are told “there is no hope for a cure.” Imagine someone walking into your world saying to you “there is no hope.” I think one of my main missions is to help my patients find hope when they may be feeling “hope-less.” I had to smile today, as I entered one of my patient’s rooms and noticed her new bracelet that had the word “hope” on it. This patient has advanced MS and is not able to speak; yet her family wants everyone who sees her to know that she still has hope.

One of my favorite hymns is “The Solid Rock.” The first stanza starts with these words:

“My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness—I dare not trust a sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.”

Where is your hope based? What do you hope for?

My prayer is quite simple: that you hope BIG!