We all feel it sometimes—that sense of the deep sorrow involved in living in this world, mingled with a poignant hope. Those who have read John Eldredge’s books will remember that he called it “the haunting.” I love that description. You know the feeling.
And you feel it when you watch your friend walk back into a situation that she’s beyond her ability to bear. Even knowing that you’re doing what you can to help her, a part of you wonders if you’re missing something—if you could go just a step further, and it would be enough.
You feel it as you watch a beautiful story about two brothers on a quest, making their way in a brutal world, possessing nothing—not even a body, in one case—but each other. The haunting pours out of the song they sing to each other, and out of all music, really; music, like art and story, convey what can never be expressed in only ‘so many words.’
And you feel it when you say something that, no matter how important or well-meant, hurts someone that matters to you. You watch the sword hit its mark, and everything inside you wants to get up and fling your arms around them; and you hold back because you wonder if it’s appropriate, and instead watch your respect for them grow in the grace of their response.
Hope changes everything. It's enough.