Caroline fell in love with the new Disney movie Zombies, a Romeo-and-Juliet musical with cheerleaders and, you guessed it, zombies. Generally, zombies are not my thing, but the songs are so catchy. I know this because she’s had Alexa play them many, many times.
When we get in the car, though, she’ll ask me to turn on the radio and say, “Oh, I hope they play my song!” This is a new thing. When I let her have my phone in the car, she can bring up any song she wants, but lately she’d rather wait for the lucky surprise of hearing her song on the radio.
This is how we listened to music back in the day. We hoped and waited for the radio to play our song because our moms wouldn’t buy the cassette, and we certainly didn’t have Alexa on call to play music. I remember waiting hours (?) for those first notes of Paula Abdul’s “Straight Up,” my boom box poised to record at two seconds’ notice. When the song finally played, it was everything I’d hoped for.
I have the cassette tape in my basement. If you ever want to borrow it, straight up now tell me.
Caroline’s new habit reminds me how fun it is to hope for something, then poof it appears. So far, Radio Disney has not played her song while we’re in the car, but when it happens there’ll be smiles for miles.
What happens, though, when you wait and hope for something, but it doesn’t appear? No poof. You think, “Maybe, just maybe, they’ll play my song.” But it’s always some other song.
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick,” wise old Solomon wrote. Ain’t that the truth.
Looking at the Seven Last Words, I notice this week’s saying is the most heart-sick of all: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus had given up his wants, but I wonder if he held on to some tiny sliver of hope. Passersby had been mocking him, but perhaps the last remark stung the most: “He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him . . .”
Maybe, just maybe, the heavens will open and angels will execute some dramatic, nick-of-time rescue. I hope. But, of course, it wasn’t to be.
“Hope springs eternal in the human breast; / Man never is, but always to be blest,” Alexander Pope wrote. Sometimes I hate how hopeful I am, especially when there is no poof of fulfillment, no good reason for it. In these Last Words, Jesus not only quotes David’s song of despair, but he simply asks why. Probably he partly knows and partly wonders. Whatever the case, his words signify the stark clarity that accompanies the loss of hope.
This is a long way from hoping to hear your favorite song, but the impulse is the same. The difference lies not so much in the things for which we hope but the one on whom we pin our hopes. Again, Solomon: “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, / but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” And the tree, for a time, was draped with a suffering Savior who hoped in God. The poof had to wait through all of Saturday.
I wait in hope for several things: responses from publishers, a report of students’ test scores, a call that my new glasses arrived, a decent grade on Caroline’s math test, and her song to play on the radio. Varying degrees of importance, maybe, but they depend on one thing:
Photo: Robert Indiana’s Hope sculpture on Michigan Avenue on a cloudy spring morning.