"You Won't Cry in Target Forever."

the thrill of Hope on the longest night

// Five years ago, a few days before Thanksgiving

I was standing in the freezer aisle of Target on a Sunday night, attempting to balance the Autumn Amber + Pumpkin candle and new set of Flair pens I grabbed in one hand and my cell phone in the other. Why I didn’t just take a cart, I don’t know. I wasn’t even supposed to be there, spending money when I didn’t actually need anything.

This Target trip was an Endorphin Errand. Maybe the birthday cake Halo Top ice cream I was looking for would bring some ounce of joy to me, even for a moment.

Except it didn’t. Because tears were streaming down my face as I, to my embarrassment, was crying —again — in the middle of that Target, avoiding eye contact with the poor guy standing next to me who was just looking for a frozen pizza for dinner.

“Just please tell me I won’t cry in Target forever,” I pleaded to my friend on the phone, inching away from these innocent bystanders.

She laughed sympathetically and reminded me, “You won’t cry in Target forever.”

Hope here was a friendship and a reminder that these hard days wouldn’t last forever.

// Five years ago, early October

Depression had shrouded itself around me for the first time in my life. Keeping up the pace I normally lived felt impossible when I woke up with this weight like an anchor, making getting out of bed that much more difficult. A page from my journal during that time shows a “Done” rather than a “To Do” list — from “graded Monday’s grammar assignments” to “brushed my teeth”– because I needed the tangible evidence on paper that I was doing something with my days.

One Monday night, during our study of Exodus, I broke down crying at Bible study and shared with the women I led that I thought I was struggling with depression. The two women sitting on either side of me took my hands without saying a word. Another friend stopped our discussion, prayed over me, and then without missing a beat, took over to lead the rest of the evening when I couldn’t say anything else without crying.

Hope here was a sense of normalcy, a list of completed tasks, a prayer over me, and a friend’s hand in mine.

// Five years ago, two weeks before Christmas

I shifted myself on her couch, attempting to alleviate the discomfort I felt. Not from the seating arrangement, but from the reality that I was sitting in a counselor’s office, admitting that I was not OK.

I wrestled with the shame. I’m not supposed to feel this way, I thought.

I should be able to better manage my emotions.

I should be able to trust God more fully.

I should be able to appreciate the gifts I have in my life.

And so I continued to attempt to buoy myself until I broke that October Monday night. And I kept breaking until a coworker noticed and reached out with a name of a counselor she trusted who loved God and loved people.

As the counselor and I went through some of the typical intake questions, I noticed the sign - probably from Hobby Lobby - that hung over her desk, directly in my line of sight. A Thrill of Hope, it read. A line from “O Holy Night” that made a cute Christmas decoration, I assumed.

Except as the weeks went on and Christmas passed, the sign stayed.

Hope here was a counselor who listened and a sign that pointed me to the year-round Truth. There was a thrill of Hope to be found in my weary world.

• A prayer over you, reader, for whatever type of season you are walking through this Christmas: May the God of all hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing that the Promised One has truly come (Romans 15:12), so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you experience the abundance of hope offered in Jesus Christ (Romans 15:13).

• A short book recommendation if you are wrestling with believing that this Christmas Hope is real: Is Christmas Unbelievable? by Rebecca McLaughlin

• Three songs to remind you of Hope: “Hope is Alive” & “Hope” & this version of “O Holy Night”