Some stories stop us in our tracks with their honesty, and today’s guest post from my friend Nicole O’Meara is one of them. Nicole has walked through suffering with both courage and candor, and the way she clings to Jesus in the middle of hard places offers us all a glimpse of hope that cannot be shaken. Her reminder that hope is never inappropriate is one I pray will meet you right where you are and strengthen your faith in the God who is always with us.

-Heather

I was paralyzed during the COVID pandemic. On Christmas Eve 2021, I went to the hospital for a procedure to stop bleeding in my lungs. The procedure was not new to me; I’d had it done at least a dozen times already. But this time, something different happened, and when I awoke, I was paralyzed from the arms down.

After a stint in spinal rehab, I came home to a life limited to the bottom floor of our two-story house. I navigated my wheelchair around sofas and left black skid marks at ankle level on every door. 

I needed to talk to someone who’d been paralyzed like me. Well, maybe not like me. My paralysis was partial, which meant I had some ability to walk and might get more. Only time would tell. Still, I wanted someone who had learned to navigate life in a chair after decades of ambulation to tell me it was possible—that life would be good again. I wanted to feel less alone in this new, hard place.

Google told me two disability support groups met locally, but alas, they were still not meeting in-person. But one of them listed a phone number. I called and met a man who’d been paralyzed for over a decade after a sporting accident. I asked a hundred questions. He had a lot of answers. Then he slipped into what I suspect was his stump speech for newly paralyzed people.

“It’s not hard. It’s just different. This is new for you. Give it time, you’ll get the hang of it.”

That was four years ago, and today, I can confidently tell you he was absolutely wrong.

It’s hard because it’s different.

The world is made for able-bodied people. Folks who can walk and scroll at the same time. Walk and lick an ice cream cone. Walk and laugh. Walk while turning to the side to speak with the person beside you without stumbling. 

I can use a cane and a leg brace (AFO) to walk now, but I can’t do any of the above. 

Doors swing shut automatically. Sometimes, too hard and too fast.

Sometimes, doors are too heavy to push open at all.

And sometimes, you have to pee right. this. second. And the nearest bathroom is two doors down and three steps up. 

That scenario with the bathroom? Been there. Didn’t make it in time. My top speed is just faster than a garden snail.

You’d think, then, that I’d be the person who would tell you to keep hope alive, but . . . only to a point. This far, but no farther. Sometimes, it’s too hard to hope because it’s too darn difficult.

But I won’t say that, because it’s just not true.

Hope is never inappropriate.

My legs are a visible reminder of the brokenness in my body. But being partially disabled is not my biggest problem. That title goes to my lungs, my invisible disability.

My lungs broke in 2018. (That’s a whole other story.) Shortly afterward, I read the story of an American pilot, a POW, who never gave up hope. The guy had every reason to, but he didn’t. He had been captured and forced to live a new, hard life, one in which he was not in control and there were no guarantees. 

Decades later, after his rescue and the rebuilding of his life, his grandsons asked why he didn’t give up hope as a POW. He told them, “Hope is always appropriate.”

After my lungs broke, I felt like I was in the same boat. I was not in control of my life. My lungs, and their fragility, had forced me into a new life, a weak one. No more planning ahead, assuming I’d be around to see our next vacation or my child’s next milestone. No more dreaming of retirement. No more Bucket Lists.

When I read the words that POW told his grandsons I felt like saying, “Ok, but . . .” Sure, hope is always appropriate except when your lungs break, or you wake up paralyzed, or [fill in the blank]. 

I felt like saying that, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. My problem was that I didn’t want to find a loophole to hope. I wanted to believe just as solidly as that airman that hope is always appropriate. 

So, I twisted the phrase and made it mine: Hope is never inappropriate. For some reason, putting the phrase into a negative felt more solid. Closed the loopholes.

There are no scenarios in which hope isn’t the right choice. 

Not in a hospital bed. Not when the bank account plunges to zero. Not when the job is lost, or the pantry is empty, or you find yourself behind enemy lines.

Never, ever, is hope inappropriate.

Why? Because Hope is a person, a fully-God, fully-man person who is faithful and trustworthy and true. Jesus has always been with me, giving me the grace to endure the unbelievably hard stuff and the faith to trust He’s still in control. He’s proved it. So, I can believe it.

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A Theology of Suffering

I’ve spent the years since 2018 building a theology of suffering. I want to be able to rejoice in the life I have, not the life I thought I’d have. And I’ve found it in the presence of Jesus.

Through the words of suffering saints like Elizabeth Elliot, Timothy Keller, and Dane Ortland, I’ve discovered a God who loves me so deeply, he really truly wants to be with me in my pain and suffering. Our with-God longs to be with us for the simple reason that he loves us. 

I learned to lament, which is a helpful thing when you’ve lost time, dreams, and abilities. I read through the Psalms and allowed myself to grieve. Lamenting is healthy work because it’s an honest conversation with God. Once that conversation has begun, God can speak into our pain and reassure us that he’s still with us, still working things for our good. When we don’t lament, we keep that conversation closed and rob ourselves of the peace of God’s presence in our pain.

The Comfort Found in Psalm 46

Psalm 46 brought me sweet comfort.  It starts with:

God is our refuge and strength,
    a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way,
    though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam,
    though the mountains tremble at its swelling. Selah

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
    the holy habitation of the Most High.
God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved;
    God will help her when morning dawns.
The nations rage, the kingdoms totter;
    he utters his voice, the earth melts.
The Lord of hosts is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our fortress. (NIV, emphasis mine)

Look at how many times God reminds us that he is with us in our suffering.

“a very present help in trouble”
“God is in the midst of her”
“The Lord of hosts is with us”

Mark Vroegop teaches us “sometimes the translators use ‘hope’ for the same word translated as ‘wait’ … because waiting and hoping are overlapping ideas. To wait is to look with hope.” (Waiting Isn’t a Waste, p.12)

The psalmist said, “God will help her when morning dawns.” Now we know that the sun always rises in the morning, without fail, so help is on the way. All we need to do is wait for it. 

Go ahead and hope for God’s help. It’s coming as sure as the morning.

This psalm was such a comfort that I wrote a devotional based on it to share with others. You can have my devotional, When Morning Dawns, for free. 

Coffee Talk

If we were at my favorite coffee shop, sitting on the patio under the palm trees that do not belong in the Sierra foothills (why do they plant palms here?), I would ask you to tell me your story. Every story has a crimson thread, and if we can find it in yours and pull on it, we will see God’s hand in your story. Then I would tell you, “This is hard, but God is with you, and hope is never inappropriate.”

Don’t give up hope, friend. Watch and wait for God’s redemption in your hard story. Morning is coming. Look for it. Watch and wait with hope.

About the Author

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Friend, I pray Nicole’s words have encouraged you as much as they encouraged me. No matter what chapter of your story you’re walking through, may you hold fast to the truth that hope is never out of place because our Hope has a name—Jesus. If this post resonated with you, leave a comment below to encourage other readers as they stop by. We are rooting for you!