Hope Floats

There is a societal obsession, I have noticed, that is hard to ignore. Turn on the TV and it’s there; movies, books, and sports all feed this mania. 

We, as a culture, are obsessed with danger, catastrophe and the like. All of the action-adventure movies or sci-fi thrillers that are released play upon this theme of danger; the leave-you-on-the-edge-of-your-seat terror that is so addictive to our society. Sports, both conventional and extreme in nature, have their fans intensely watching, half-hoping some big disaster comes of the risks the participants are taking. Authors rely on this preoccupation with calamity to keep their readers turning pages in their mystery novels, and even reality TV stars tap in to this fixation. They live their lives on the edge, constantly trying to entertain their droves of fans with the latest downward spiral their lives have taken.

This thought process was playing through my mind last night as I sat in standstill traffic on the highway headed home after a long day at work. I thought for sure it must be an accident, and sure enough it was. I crept up, slowly but surely, and as I finally was close enough to assess the situation, I saw that it was a fender bender that was nearly cleaned up. It was only blocking one lane (out of five) and yet every driver felt the need to come to a near complete stop to look over and see the accident.  They wanted to see the damage, if there was anyone hurt, what the cars looked like, etc.

Now, I understand morbid fascination with such things to an extent, but last night I was just plain annoyed. All I wanted to do was to get home, and these curious drivers were inhibiting me, just for the pure satisfaction of seeing the destruction incurred on another’s vehicle. 

It was an enlightening moment for me. I thought about my daily routine. I watch the news every morning, and the horrific details of Casey Anthony’s trial for killing her daughter are splashed across the screen. I read the paper, and more often than not, the articles are of catastrophe in the Middle East, or the unemployment rates in this city or that.  Everywhere, it seems, the focus is disaster. Warfare. Tragedy. Heartbreak. Hopelessness.

It is hard to find hope in a world that seems to crush it with each new headline. A society that is consumed by danger, cataclysm, and misfortune. It is hard for me to put faith in tomorrow, when today seems to be a dire set of circumstances, and passers by relish in the thought of getting a "front row view".

But my hope is found in something greater than me, greater than my circumstances and greater than my society. Greater than my relationships, my job, or even my future. My hope is found in my Faith, and it is there that my hope floats.