It’s 4 a.m. and I can’t sleep. A million thoughts were running through my head that kept me awake; though my body is tired, my mind is in full-throttle. Minutes later, tears flowed through my cheeks and I uttered a prayer, “Lord, bring me back to New York,” a few moments later I finally fell asleep.
This isn’t the first time it happened. Caused by the painful feelings of missing home, I’ve cried buckets of tears. But the hope that things will work out because I am where I need to be has kept me going.
I terribly miss New York. I tell people that whenever I’m sad, it’s not because I’m in the Philippines, but it’s because I’m not in New York. When you’ve established yourself deeply in a place where some of your greatest relationships outside of family have been built, where you’ve first experienced the daunting challenges of adulthood, where you finally understood the realities of bills and debt, then that place, whether you were born there or not, becomes home.
And I’ve just been uprooted from it.
I can choose to continue crying. I can decide to wallow in pity. I can make my life miserable voluntarily because I’m not where I want to be. But none of these will make things better. Defusing hope from the picture will only make things worse.
But hope – anchored on a Person and purpose greater than myself, is the light that’s guiding me through.
I don’t fully understand why I needed to come back; I don’t event want to be here. Despite that I am full of hope for what the future holds. When you know that you know that you know you are in the right place, regardless of what you feel, the sense of peace is different. The confidence, though not resulting in immediate happiness, is real.
My emotions and sentiments aside, I’m expectant. I’m in great faith. I am full of hope.
Hope is the lens that allows us to see the future with optimism. Hope is the foundation on which we trust that something good will come out of our decisions, no matter how difficult it was to make them. Hope keeps us alive, giving us the fuel to move on.
Tonight, I may still cry. I may still be up until 4 a.m. trying to find rest. I may still utter a divine plea to be sent back to New York. But it’s okay. Transition is part of life and not all changes are easy.
Hope moves forward. Sleeping maybe difficult, but I’ll find rest. And when I wake up, I’ll move on and face the day expectant of great things to come.