Breaking Open Hope

Lessons in Hope from a Geode

He had been at it for nearly an hour, which, in seven-year-old time, is basically equivalent to an eternity.

The contents of the geode kit he had gotten for his birthday were strewn about the front walkway. His daddy’s hammer, a magnifying glass, and the biggest geode in the box laid with hopeful expectancy on the sidewalk. He couldn’t wait to get started as he slipped the plastic safety goggles over his head, beaming with confident anticipation. He knew whatever was inside of that rough speckled rock was going to be good.

Really, really good.

He swung the hammer as hard as he could, and I couldn’t help but notice a twinge of disappointment on his face when he saw that the geode didn’t immediately split open upon impact. Nevertheless, he kept at it, taking his little magnifying glass every so often to inspect for fractures or chips in the surface— any sign that his efforts were being fruitful. 

And when he didn’t see any, he kept going. He changed how he swung the hammer, experimenting with small taps and big blows alike. He used the other end of the hammer like a chisel. He flipped the geode on its top, then on its side, then on its other side. He moved it from the sidewalk to the grass. 

What started as hopeful excitement slowly transformed into obvious disappointment with each failed blow of the hammer. And when he was sure he had exhausted all of his options, he threw his hands up in exasperation. “I give up!” he said, throwing his safety goggles onto the ground as he walked away.

While he played in the driveway with his sister, I picked up the hammer and gave the geode three quick taps. With the final tap, a fissure danced across its rugged surface, forcing the two halves to roll outward and teeter-totter against the sidewalk in opposite directions. Two little caverns of diamond-like crystals sparkled joyously, reflecting the afternoon sun with such breathtaking beauty it was as if they were rejoicing at their liberation. 

My son didn’t realize how close he was to succeeding. He didn’t understand that all those blows of the hammer were not in vain. He couldn’t comprehend that progress was being made, even though there was no visible evidence on the surface.

I don’t know what you’re going through, friend, but if this stirs your soul, it was written for you. Don’t give up hope. God is working in your situation. Even when you can’t see it— especially when you can’t see it.

And what he has for you— it’s going to be good.

Really, really good.  

If you enjoyed this blog post, I think you’ll love I Love My Small House. It’s a short love letter to small homes everywhere and an ode to the big magic found in them.