Choosing Hope Over Fear

It's been a tough few months for everyone. Global quarantines have shuttered businesses, leaving people without jobs, and have increased rates of depression and other mental health issues. People are anxious, scared, depressed, and overwhelmed by a host of negative emotions. The nationwide protests, violence, and outpouring of anger are symptomatic of deep unrest and great hopelessness in our country. I've been feeling it, and I'm largely removed from it since I'm in prison. 

Even so, I and many other prisoners have felt increasingly isolated without being able to see our loved ones on visits, and we've been discouraged by perplexing political inaction over prison reforms. If the imminent risk of death for some prisoners does not move politicians to act to protect them, the rest of us feel little hope that legislative or executive action will lead to reduced prison populations. Furthermore, those who are leaving prison during this pandemic face great uncertainty, about their actual parole dates and about what awaits them on the other side. 

In short, there's a lot to feel hopeless about. 

But this blog is not about hopelessness, despite my feeling that way sometimes. It's about hope on the inside--inside the razor wire fences and inside my heart. I'm normally an optimistic and hopeful person, so it's been difficult to struggle with the wave of hopelessness surrounding me and at times inside me. It's made me have to dig deep, to rely more fully on the source of my hope, which comes from my faith in God. 

It's easy to get distracted by the sea of hopelessness around me, but my faith calls me to deepen my well of hope in God when all around me looks hopeless. It also calls me (and you) to act. I have always said that hope is not passive. It is active. I can't do much about the systemic issues of racial inequity that are causing such national unrest. But I can speak up against racism and injustice around me. I can't do much about legislative and political inaction towards prison reform, but I can urge others to act. I can't do much about the jobless situation for returning citizens, but I can encourage them and pray with them as they prepare to leave prison. I can inspire sober life choices, teach basic budgeting, and share ideas about legal ways to make money. I can't visit with loved ones right now, but I can lean into relationships with other prisoners who likewise miss face-to-face visits with loved ones. 

Hope is not simply a feeling. It's a choice, and choosing hope means acting radically different in the midst of hopelessness. As someone recently reminded me, it means doing the next right thing. I don't always know what that next thing is, but every day is a new opportunity to let hope win. Every day is an opportunity to choose hope over fear.