I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened so that you may know what is the hope of His calling…
-Ephesians 1:18a

Hope. That unseen thing we cling to so desperately.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary describes it as implying “little certainty” but instead suggesting “confidence or assurance” in possibility.

Possibility in the impossibility is what our God is all about.

I’ve been wrestling with that lately as we’ve been reminded of diagnoses previously given for our girl, and then handed new labels. Diagnoses such as porencephalic cyst, multiple unchanged cysts, and severe cystic encephalomalacia… all of which lend themselves to a poor prognosis. Seemingly hopeless, but here we are, eleven years later, still clinging to hope and seeing miracles.

Then, most recently, the latest test results and diagnoses that gave hope and ripped it away at the same time. A normal EEG, indicating resolution of the ESES that’s been a part of our battle for so long… but then leading doctors to declare that the damage done to Harper’s brain has been permanent as they’ve officially labeled her developmentally delayed and intellectually disabled.

We’ve seen all the test results; we’ve been following the trend for years; and we’ve been given subtle warnings by doctors since her birth. But somehow seeing those words in black-and-white on her records is a gut punch nothing quite prepares you for. From the doctor’s point of view, it’s the final word. They’re done with looking for change, done with optimistic outlooks, and have essentially lost hope that it will ever be different.

But I remembered today that this is why my hope is built on nothing less. My hope cannot be in test results and doctors reports and diagnoses. My hope cannot be built on what I think should be, and what I want to happen. My hope cannot be in the mere words of man and labels and descriptions. My hope cannot be in medications and doctors and experts.

My hope is Jesus alone.

I haven’t quite known what to do with this big, official diagnosis. On the one hand it seems to change everything; yet in reality it changes absolutely nothing.

Will we change the way we approach things? No.

Will we change our efforts to raise our daughter to be who God has called her to be? No.

Will we lower our expectations? No.

Will we stop believing for more? No.

Will we stop praying, stop moving, stop trusting, stop hoping? Absolutely not.

Whatever future lies ahead, our hope remains the same, for our hope is the One who never changes.