Funny Mental Insights: Hazel Clem and Hope

It's Christmas day.

A few days ago, on December 22, a very good friend, Hazel Clem, died. She had struggled with cancer, struggled valiantly, but now the struggle is over. We are all poorer now.

Hazel was the mother of Keith, one of the best friends I have ever had and the best man at our wedding. The lives of Keith and I have diverged over the years. He is hundreds of miles away now, and I haven't seen Hazel in years. But Keith and Hazel (and Keith's dad Eddie Wayne) are still very much part of my life because when we were closer, they worked their way into who I am. I am much better since I know them.

Hazel enjoyed life. She lived fearlessly. She lived on the New Madrid fault, and had a collection of crystal platters and china plates.

She loved the color red. I don't mind just liked the color red. She loved red. Everything in her life which could be red was, in fact, red.

I used to visit the Clems pretty regularly when I was in college and graduate school. It was more than worth the short drive out to Arkansas. She was never anything but hospitable. No, "hospitable" is too bland a word these days. Hazel gave of herself, made room in her world for me, and never let me imagine that it was anything but her pleasure. Even when I felt that there were few places where I really belonged, I knew I belonged with the Clems.

Now, all Advent season, I've been struggling with something. Advent, in the Christian church, is a time of looking forward, a time of hope.

What's been playing through my head as I read and tried to discuss the Advent scriptures in the Sunday school class I lead is that there are plenty of people ready to claim that there is no hope in the world. Sandy and Sandy Hook are what the world is, and where it's headed, they claim. To believe otherwise is to be foolish and naive, they say. And I don't say that they're entirely wrong.

There are others, including many Christians, who believe that every day, in every way, we're getting better and better. Sandy and Sandy Hook are just mysteries, they say, and if we knew all that Jesus knows, we'd find out that they happened to draw more believers to Christ. To believe otherwise is to be faithless or even blasphemous. I can't believe that either.

I can't close my eyes to the horror that is the world, but I can't close my heart to hope either.

It's hard to hope. I know it's not supposed to be easy, but it's hard to look at roughly TWO THOUSAND TWELVE YEARS of people saying and living into the promise of God, the belief that God has defeated sin and that we see a "great light." Sometimes, it seems like it's all like a dream that is so good, so fantastic, that waking up feels bitter and depressing.

And then, I think of blessings like Hazel Clem. And I can't do anything but hope. Hazel made the world better, made my world better anyway. So, while I can't say how things will change, and I can't even say precisely what the changes will be, I hope. For Hazel, Hazel's family, and for all of us.

Merry Christmas.