Shouldn't that be enough
Easter is a day of big hope. It’s all going to be ok somehow. Eventually. Jesus fixed it. Just keep believing.
But I don’t believe that anymore. I don’t have big hope. That hope appears to be an illusion, wish-casting, cope. I understand the desire to say that it’s all going to be ok. I get it. I feel it. But I’m trying to live in reality now. In reality, anything can happen.
Small hope, on the other hand, is everywhere. I experience it daily. I look for it. I notice it. I note it. I receive it. I try to give it.
My daughter, Luciana, is 13. She’s been playing piano for about five years. Over the last year, it all started to click for her. It started with Rihanna’s “Stay.” She learned it in a few days. There is nothing quite like listening to your child play and sing a beautiful song.
Luci sang in the spring recital last year. I shared it here. It was a beautiful moment. This year, she wanted to play piano and sing. She chose the song “All I Want” from High School Musical: The Musical: The Series. It’s a powerful song.
Luci sat down at the keyboard. My heart was pounding. Something was wrong. The keyboard wasn’t working. For what seemed like an eternity, they looked at cords and buttons. My heart raced. That’s a lot of anxiety for a 13-year-old to hold.
But people cheered and encouraged her. The audience, a collection of middle school parents and loved ones, wanted her to succeed. The room was electric with anticipation. And finally, it was all ready (kind of).
I was sitting with my family. Luci’s mom’s family was right behind us. I won’t tell how it went. You can listen for yourself. As I listened to the recording that I took, I was moved by Luci’s performance, of course, but I was equally moved by all the ways that I could hear people offer support and love.
There’s a line in the song that I can’t stop thinking about as I embrace small hope, and leave behind big hope.
“But shouldn't that be enough for me?”
Here’s Luci’s performance.
Lyrics
I found a guy, told me I was a star
He held the door held my hand in the dark
And he’s perfect on paper but he’s lying to my face
Does he think that I’m the kinda girl who needs to be saved?
And there’s one more boy, he’s from my past
We fell in love but it didn’t last
‘Cause the second I figure it out he pushes me away
And I won’t fight for love if you won’t meet me halfway
And I say that I’m through but this song’s still for you
All I want is love that lasts
Is all I want too much to ask?
Is it something wrong with me?
All I want is a good guy
Are my expectations far too high?
Try my best but what can I say
All I have is myself at the end of the day
But shouldn’t that be enough for me?
Ooh ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh
And I miss the days
When I was young and naive
I thought the perfect guy would come and find me
Now happy ever after it don’t come so easily
All I want is love that lasts
Is all I want too much to ask?
Is it something wrong with me? Oh
All I want is a good guy
Are my expectations far too high?
Try my best but what can I say
All I have is myself at the end of the day
And all I want is for that to be okay
Josh, thanks for posting Luci’s piece. A beautiful voice and such poise to move through that. Resilience. It will take her a long way.
I read your blog several times and appreciate how well you articulated your thinking. It was also respectful of those of us who are not ready to let go of the big hope. I love the idea that small hopes are everywhere. Easter morning at a Sunrise Service I spoke of small hopes, but I called them “little resurrections.” After all, it was Easter! Small hopes or little resurrections, call them what you like, but they are everywhere. Daily? Perhaps. Probably. It doesn’t matter. Those who are looking for them will see them.
A few years ago I was sitting with a friend in Phoenix. His wife was in the hospital. She had been battling cancer for several years. They both knew where the journey would end, just not when. As we sat on an outside patio in Phoenix in March. We sat across from one another, drinks before us, when Ron turned to me and said, “Tony, if it ends tomorrow, it was an incredible gift.” Read that sentence again. Life, each and every day, is an incredible gift. I remember Ron’s words most days as I go through my own journey with a terminal cancer diagnosis. Your Aunt Dee and I end each day reminding ourselves that the day was a gift and waking up tomorrow will be a gift as well. When we received the diagnosis back in October, we had no thought that I would feel as good as I do or that I would preach an Easter sermon 6 months later. Each day feels like a small hope, a little resurrection.
As for the big hope, I think about that most days as well. I don’t know what lies out there beyond my final breath. How could I know? I’ve never before experienced death, and someone else’s “near death” experience carry’s little weight for me. Near death isn’t DEATH, no matter how you spin it. Yet I hold to the Big Hope, the hope that there is something good beyond death, that the love I have for my family and friends somehow survives. Perhaps it will live on within the love of the creator of the universe. But I don’t know for certain. That’s why we call it hope.
I still choose to live in a reality that is open to the possibility of a resurrection. You did say, “In reality, anything can happen.” Perhaps that includes resurrection. I do know that as I near the moment of my own death, I have many questions for which I have no certain answers. Is there life beyond death is one of those questions. Yet I approach that moment with hope, with the Big Hope that for me is rooted in story of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. That choice and story may end up being “illusion, wish-casting, cope.” I’ll know when I know. Or maybe I’ll never know! For now, I live knowing that “if it ends to tomorrow, it was an incredible gift.” I can live and die with that; I’m at peace with that. Yet I hold on to that Big Hope, the hope that death is surrender to Love, the Love that created the universe.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts, and especially your Luci story. I’m grateful for your voice. But most of all, I’m grateful for the nephew I’ve known and loved for nearly 50 years now. ❤️
Uncle Tony
Nice, and she is certainly enough.