You know the feeling. That sense of panic that starts in the pit of your stomach and works its way up to your throat as you think about the future. Those sentences that start with “What if,” “But …,” “What about?” and end with something along the lines of “I can’t survive if this doesn’t happen!” or “I can’t wait that long!” Or maybe that’s just me. Oh—it’s you too?
My dad made me my hope chest when I graduated high school. Items were placed in it with the hope that someday they would be used in a home of my own. A home filled with a husband’s love and children’s laughter. However, as the years passed, the excitement to purchase or make things for the hope chest diminished as the hope of marriage decreased. I found myself irritated with the sight of it, as if somehow the hope chest had betrayed me. It seemed unjust and unfair to have it sit in my presence, mocking the hopes it held. That is until I looked at my hope chest from God’s point of view.