Hope Never Dies
An Honest Advent Reflection on Hope and Hopelessness
I stared at the screen—blank, white, waiting in anticipation for the stroke of the keyboard to fill it with tiny black lines. With no thought in particular, tears filled the rims of my eyes, and I wondered what might be causing such woe.
I haven’t written in weeks, is that it? Words have evaded me as I’ve considered how to express the goodness of God in a world that doesn’t seem good.
The changes in my life this season are a bit overwhelming, is that it? Family moving and reconciliation still pending.
The dawn of Advent, Christmas on the horizon, is that it? Something seemingly so whimsical, beautiful, light, and joyful—yet, this year feels different.
I scroll through countless pictures on my phone—friends, family, weddings, adventures, and beautiful memories that seem long gone in this moment. I gaze at flashes of myself from years past and re-focus on the reflection that stares back at me through the dark phone screen. I remember that girl, I think.
The weight I’ve put on the last few years demeans me as I wish I could figure my life out and get back to the healthy me. Why did life seem simpler? Even though it likely didn’t feel like it then.
Today is the first day of Advent, and my soul should be soaring high with the expectation of long, reflective, restful winter nights. Instead, it feels low and heavy, waiting for the calendar to turn January 1st for a fresh start and new beginning.
I like to be the person who can turn things around—dive into the deep end but bring everyone to shallow waters to breathe easily again. Advent has allowed me to do that in years past. I’ve always welcomed and warmed to the presence of waiting with hope, even through seasons where you feel like you’re drowning.
After many years of doing this work myself and experiencing the presence of God lift me up out of my woes each holiday season, I put together a collection of Advent devotionals, specifically focused on seasons of waiting. After all, advent is the arrival of hope after long days and nights of restless anticipation.
Four years after publishing Miracles in the Meantime, and writing other advent content year after year, I find myself longing for that very hope I exhort others about through my writing.
Here’s a snippet from Day One of Miracles in the Meantime:
“And the angel said to them, ‘Fear not, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.” Luke 2:10
Let’s be honest. There are multiple moments throughout the day when you feel like even Christmas might not do it for you this year. When chaos, frustration, pain, or transition swirls around us, it’s hard to see “good news of great joy.”
Often we skip to the great joy, but the angel’s greeting to the shepherds started with two simple words: “fear not.” In order to embrace, remember, and allow the good news of Christ’s birth to transform us to see great joy, we must lay down our fears…1
I didn’t even want to decorate for Christmas this year. I had a solid moment of Mr. Krank energy, considering skipping Christmas altogether and putting the money we’d spend on gifts toward a getaway. Not because I didn’t want to give gifts or spend time with family, but because the holiday festivities often force you to pretend everything is jolly. For a few different reasons, this holiday season doesn’t feel too jolly for me, and if there’s one thing I hate in life, it’s pretending like everything is fine when it’s not.
If there is one thing Advent and the celebration of Christ’s birth is NOT, it is not intended to be a time of faking hope, peace, love, and joy. Jesus never faked it, so why do we expect ourselves to?
“Advent expresses the weight of a world waiting to be made right.”2
Just as the people of God were waiting for Jesus to make things right, we are waiting on Christ’s second advent to make us whole again, with God in Heaven. That’s weighty. This world is weighty. Especially today, technology keeps us in the know of things we weren’t created to hold space for—war breaking out in other countries, shootings around the nation, local politics in states and counties that don’t make a difference for our current context, and the list goes on.
The world asks us to expand our capacity for knowledge and activism as it siphons our hope, peace, love, and joy, without refilling it. It can’t fully refill it; only Jesus can.
But you see, there I go again. I know all the right words and church platitudes to remind us that God is good, despite our worries, and it feels good and true when you read it on a screen but it doesn’t always stick with you. At least, it doesn’t stick with me.
When I consider the invitation of Advent, it is not merely reflecting on the goodness of God or reading Scripture to remember the hope, peace, love, and joy of Christ.
Advent is an act of resilience, a response to a world that constantly takes and depletes us, combating that with the truth of a God who fills us and shines light in the darkest corners of our minds, souls, and lives.
Tears once again filled my eyes after my fingers stroked the keyboard with those words because I need that truth so deeply this season.
“Authentic resilience is not just pushing through or ignoring the pain, but learning to expand so we can hold both truths in tandem—sadness and joy.”3
To kick off the holiday festivities, my family surprised my mom with tickets to see Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s Lost Christmas Eve show for her birthday. It was incredible, but I sat there full of many tangled-up emotions. I prayed that God would allow me to remember the wonder of this artistic production despite the ache of life I carried in my heart.
As they shared a story to go along with the show, the narrator spoke words that soothed my soul and pointed me straight back to the goodness of God.
“Hope never dies;
It merely sleeps,
And what we surrender,
Christmas keeps.”4
The magic of Christmas for children all around is that a strange, jolly man named Santa Claus shows up in the dead of night, wherever they are, to bring joy through the gift of toys.
Jesus reminded us that “unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”
In the dead of night, we wait. We ponder the weight of life and learn to hold space for both sadness and joy because the night is not long enough to drown out the light.
Wherever we are, we hope. Jesus showed up and continues to do so when the moment seems the bleakest and our hearts can’t handle it anymore.
If your holiday season feels similar to mine, or you’re walking through unbearable pain or loss, I pray you know the truth—hope is not lost or dead. It’s waiting for you because of the work of the cross.
The promise of hope is not that everything is good now—but that we know the One who is good, and He holds our future secure while standing with us in the meantime.
The work of surrender is where we find a greater capacity to expand for the work of Christ to fill us with hope, peace, love, and joy like no one else can. It’s not your job to hold hope alone; Christ carries it for you.
It’s okay to say no to honor the space you need this season. It’s okay to say yes when you feel like saying no, if you know it’s what’s best for your soul. It’s okay to let go of expectations of yourself or others, to make space for God to guide you into a new rhythm of peace.
May you find resilience this season to stand strong against the tide, to hold the tension of darkness and light, grief and joy, and discover how Christmas holds that hope for you when you don’t feel strong enough to hold it yourself.
May Christ lift your head up while holding onto you so you can know the presence of peace when you’re unable to escape the chaos of life.
May this Advent be one of renowned hope in a sea of despair because Christ came down to draw near.
“A thrill of hope,
the weary world rejoices.”
A Parting Note:
I pray you will deeply consider what you need this season to set your heart right. For me, there came a day in the last couple of weeks when I realized I needed to be proactive in pulling myself out of the deep sea of emotions that could easily carry me away and prioritize taking care of my emotional, spiritual, and physical needs. I scheduled a chiropractor appointment and a deep-tissue massage, and I reached out to a therapist to start regular sessions. I registered for a half-marathon in April so I would have a goal to get me back to regular exercise.
Sit in the moments with God, reflect on Scripture and the truth of His goodness and presence, but find ways to be proactive in other ways to heal your needs — find time to spend with friends, be honest with your spouse about where you’re at, cancel your reservation to that holiday party if a bath would be more soothing.
Don’t let the anti-rhythm of this season paired with your own personal concerns and journey pull you away from what God wants to show you and where God wants to heal and delight you.
Stephanie LaPreal Yttrup, Miracles in the Meantime (Self-published, November 1, 2020)
Stephanie Duncan Smith, Even After Everything, narrated by the author, audiobook, Penguin Random House, October 14, 2024.
Stephanie Duncan Smith, Even After Everything, narrated by the author, audiobook, Penguin Random House, October 14, 2024.
Trans-Siberian Orchestra, Lost Christmas Eve 2024
Oh the tears 😭 were falling as I read this. I’m so proud of you and your writing is just getting better and better. Thank you for being so authentic. 😘