Letting God Be the Reason I Have Hope

Sometimes the hardest part of waiting is waking up and realizing you are still praying about the same thing.

You have tried to be patient.

You have had the conversations, done your part, asked for direction.

And still...there is something unresolved.

I know that feeling.

The quiet disappointment of wanting to trust God while also wishing He would give me a little more information.

In Come, Follow Me this week, we are invited to make a chart of hope as we study Isaiah. We are asked to notice what we learn about God, the messages of hope He offers, and what we can do to act on those truths.

As I began, I found myself asking a question I hadn’t expected:

Where have I been looking for hope?

Because sometimes I look for it in a better conversation.

Someone’s reassurance.

A changed circumstance.

I tell myself... I will feel more peaceful ...once I know how things are going to turn out.

And perhaps, without realizing it, I put my hope somewhere that cannot hold it for very long.

I remember sitting in the temple, praying for my marriage. I wanted direction, guidance, the next right step. But honestly, I also had a list of things I wanted God to change.

Please soften this. Help us understand each other. Show me what to do.

I opened my Bible. It’s what I do when I need direction. The Bible leads my life, especially when my own thoughts keep circling the same unanswered questions.

On the page I opened to were these words:

“The battle is not yours, but God’s.”

I stayed there for a while.

I had been carrying so much responsibility for what happened next. Trying to find the right words, make the right choices, and somehow make everything okay.

That scripture helped me recognize how much I was carrying beyond my part.

There were still things I needed to do. Honest conversations to have. Choices to make. But I could bring those things to God without also taking responsibility for every person’s response and the entire future.

I did not leave with the detailed plan I wanted. I left with something I could hold on to.

Reading Isaiah this week brought me back to that moment.

These messages of hope were offered to people facing exile and loss. Jerusalem was devastated. When the Lord promised to make her wilderness like Eden, He was speaking into a place that looked nothing like a garden.

I wonder what it felt like to hear that promise while looking around at what had been lost?

Perhaps that is why Isaiah 51:3 means so much to me.

The Lord promises comfort for Zion’s waste places, joy and gladness where there has been wilderness.

He sees what is broken. He does not ask His people to pretend otherwise.

And He can see a future they cannot yet imagine.

When something has been painful for a long time, I think we become accustomed to it. We learn how to manage it. We lower our expectations a little, sometimes because hoping again feels like another way to get hurt.

I have done that.

But then I come to Isaiah 51:12:

“I, even I, am he that comforteth you.”

There is something tender about those words.

I often come to God asking what to do. Perhaps I can also come simply because I need comfort. Because I am tired. Because I don’t have another solution to offer, and I need to remember that I am loved right here.

I don’t have to turn every prayer into a request for instructions.

Sometimes I can let myself be held in the uncertainty.

Isaiah also points back to the Lord making a way through the sea. That remembering matters. When the present feels overwhelming, it can become the only thing I see.

So I have been looking back.

Where has God helped me before?

What words came at the right moment?

Who showed up when I needed someone?

How did I find the strength to take a step I was afraid to take?

That day in the temple belongs on my list.

Remembering it does not tell me exactly how my current prayers will be answered. It reminds me that I have met God in uncertainty before.

Then, in Isaiah 52, comes the invitation to rise and shake off the dust. Those words were spoken to captive Zion, but as I consider them in my own life, I find a question worth sitting with:

Have I allowed what I am going through to become the whole story of who I am?

A difficult relationship, a disappointment, or an unanswered prayer can take up so much space. Yet I am still someone God loves. I still have promises to keep and choices available to me.

Today, rising might look quite ordinary.

Speaking honestly without trying to control the response.

Keeping a boundary with kindness.

Taking care of myself.

Following a prompting instead of spending another hour trying to predict the future.

As a coach, I often ask, “What is yours to choose next?” This week, I am asking myself that question with God beside me.

What can I do from the hope I have found in His Word?

I am including a worksheet for you if you would like to look for your own messages of hope this week.

Take your time with it.

Choose a few verses from Isaiah 50–52 and notice what they teach you about God. Then consider how those truths might meet you in something you are facing.

You don’t need to write something polished. A few honest words may be enough.

God has helped me before.

I can come to Him for comfort today.

There is one faithful step I can take.

I still want answers to some of my prayers. I still want things to change. But I am learning to make room for comfort before the answer comes, and for hope before I know the ending.

This week, I want to let God be the reason I have hope.

And let that hope help me live today.

FREE Worksheet for you click here: Hope Chart