Hope?

The news is rather devastating.
Last evening I stopped to check my email. I saw that the Chaplain's Office of Wheaton College had sent a urgent message. I clicked on the email only to discover that a Wheaton student, as well as her younger sister, father, and friend, had been killed Saturday morning in a tragic plane accident not far outside of Wheaton. My heart sunk. The girl, Ramie Harris, had been in my Spanish class last year. I knew her, talked to her, laughed with her, and spoke terrible conversations of broken Spanish (with mostly English) to her. But she was dead. I could not even begin to fathom.
I have struggled with hope throughout much of my life. Having a brother crippled at birth, and watching God take my beautiful aunt to the horrors of cancer have often left me questioning God's goodness at times. In my own journey, prayers for years remained unanswered by God, as if He was turning a blind ear to my sorrow, "but God, why don't you heal me, don't you want me to be straight?"
Hope. It is a beautiful word. But it is one that often becomes bastardized for the point of selling cute plaques and bumper stickers. I am sick of worldly hope. Christ calls us to fully trust Him, He wants nothing more then everything. Yet how can I give such things, how can I hope? I wrestle as reason, the heart, and my fear all battle to take control of a feeble being, as I am tugged between doubts, anger, worry, fear, yet joy, peace, and comfort. Can anyone relate?
I pray for hope for the Harris family. They have lost three beautiful members of their family. To the world, there is no hope here, yet to God, this is a step in the journey. No, this is no essential utilitarian God ushering another painful step towards some utopia built on utility. I cannot believe in a God like that. There is pain, yet there is hope. I wrestle constantly with finding hope in my future. As the tightrope seems to constantly thin to a single strand, I struggle to ask God my role as a gay Christian in the Church, in the world, in the gay community, and for now, at Wheaton College. And what of my future? Will I ever know love? Can I find peace between my sexuality and faith? Will God provide me with community, with family, with a future? There is so little hope in this world, and when I look I see bleakness. But as I gaze at the cross hanging above my desk, I see the ultimate irony of hope. In that exact moment of true suffering, or total destruction, when all hope seemed lost, Christ broke through our own human brokenness, taking on the hopeless state of humanity. Let us never forget the hope of that Cross, the redemption in the blood. Though I have no idea God's plan for the Harris family, for Wheaton, or my own journey through my sexuality, I do know God is in control, and His hope and love will endure forever.
Please keep the Harris family in your prayers.