Even the darkest night will end

A New Year’s reflection on suffering and hope

Postgraduate life has been difficult for my friends and me. One of us got a serious diagnosis that has changed the way she thinks about her life and future. Two of us broke up with men who we’d thought we’d be with forever. There were many, many losses — small deaths of what could have been. There were many moments when it seemed impossible to succeed.

For example, I almost had to rehome my dog who I love desperately because of his endlessly barking and panicking whenever I left the house. I remember sitting on the phone with my dad genuinely wondering if I had what it took to rehabilitate him and pretty much believing there was no hope. But I was wrong. 

I tried one more training method, got him on puppy Prozac, and now know way more about dog psychology than I ever wanted to know. Now, he’s a changed dog, still anxious sometimes but broadly able to handle my absence and other old triggers without completely melting down. No one who knew him at the time expected this turnaround. 

It’s made me reflect on how many obstacles I’ve faced that seemed insurmountable before they suddenly weren’t. We’re always just one tectonic plate shift away from the unthinkable, good and bad. 

There have been a hundred moments that my friends and I never thought we could make it through and did in the past year and a half alone. 

My friend although still shaken about her health has found ways to move on with her life and continue furthering her career. After panicking that I would never find an interesting or worthwhile way to pay my bills, I’ve landed at an organization where I get to think and grow among outstanding individuals who I greatly respect. As I've written about previously, there was a time I thought I'd be able to go into a church without feeling panic and fear but now I do all the time. 

None of these breakthroughs were part of my strategic planning. I couldn’t have guessed my dog would be fairly functional, or that I’d have a good job (as an English major!) but I do. That’s the thing about goodness, it’s impossible to predict. 

But too often, I look into the future with despair. I imagine plodding on with unchanged circumstances and can’t imagine experiencing joy again. But this is never true. The path out of the mountains might not be visible, but it’s there. 

Christianity has long instructed me to hope. It told me about a Savior who conquers death, suffering, and evil. It told me I was panicking that I should trust. And often I couldn't or didn't listen. It’s too easy for instructions to hope and have faith to become weapons to invalidate grief and suffering. This is exactly wrong. There is no way to avoid pain. Neither faith nor hope nor anything is meant to erase pain. These things are only ways of looking forward beyond the present moment into a different and better future. The battles of the day still must be fought, even when they seem futile. Dogs must be trained. Doctors' appointments attended and breakups endured. The power of hope isn’t in avoiding pain but continuing despite it.

My resolution this year is to remember all the impossible moments of redemption that have interjected themselves into the lives of mine and my friends. Loss may be certain, but so is redemption. This year I’m reminding myself to carry on in hope, not a naive false positivity, but earnest belief that eventually things will change for the better. To quote Victor Hugo, “Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” This past year, I’ve been more convinced than ever that he’s right.