Hope for Back to School

All this week, as parents across the Northeast have been doing, I've been prepping my kids to get back in the routine of going to bed earlier, so that they can be refreshed for school. Last night, we got back into the groove: dinner, bath, book, uniforms out, lights out, pray. They prayed.

Then, I prayed. And prayed. And prayed.

There are levels of back to school preparation. There's the school supplies and clothes or uniforms. There's the mental preparation of getting the kids out of the summer mindset and into the school mindset. There's the mental preparation for parents of separating from your child, if they're young, or worrying about their academic and social success, if they're older.

Then there's the other worry that American parents carry. The level of worry we shouldn't have to think about.

My kids go to Catholic school, I went to Catholic school, and until the tragedy in Minneapolis, I'm not going to lie, I thought I was immune from the gun violence at schools.

Of course, I take every precaution by sending them somewhere with locked and secured doors, who do all the precautions, and have emergency systems, but something in my subconscious still felt like it was more of a public school problem.

It's an American problem, and a significant one at that.

We realize as parents that we can't protect our children from all danger and the scary realities of this world, but we do our best. We want to wrap them in a safety we can't always guarantee and control what we simply cannot control. But beyond doing my best to ask the school questions and frame it in the right way for the boys, I have hope.

What Hope Looks Like

Hope doesn't deny reality. It doesn't pretend bad things don't happen. Hope looks directly at a broken world and says, "This isn't the end of the story."

Hope looks like teachers who show up every day knowing the risks but believing in the future sitting in their classrooms.

Hope looks like children who still raise their hands, still laugh at lunch, still dream about what they want to be when they grow up.

Hope looks like parents who send their children with love notes tucked in lunchboxes - small reminders that no matter what happens, they are seen, they are loved, they have promise.

Hope trusts that the parents all across this country who have experienced the unimaginable will fight, will speak up, and will find that their work to change things will produce a better world.

The resilience children have, we can learn from. We can take lessons from them in repeating themselves until they get what they want, demanding that what's theirs should stay in their possession and no one has the right to take it from them, believing that they can do anything and someone is there to protect them and give them more.

Repeat, demand, believe.

What We Can Give Them

We can't promise them a world without risk. But we can send them with something stronger than our worry - we can send them with hope they can touch all day long.

Children are resilient in ways that still surprise us. They find joy in puddles after storms. They make friends in lunch lines. They bounce back from hard days faster than we think possible. They carry hope naturally - not because their world is perfect, but because hope is woven into who they are.

Your child walking through those school doors tomorrow? They're proof that hope is real. That beautiful things emerge even in uncertain times. That love finds a way to grow even when everything around it feels fragile.

Hope They Can Carry

When you pray for your children, pray out loud and in front of them. Let them hear what you're asking God for them and for their future.

Let them hear and soak in what you believe about faith and hope, about God and them. Acknowledge that the world is going through a lot right now, but they can rest in the hands of the Person who controls the world. They can sleep, and rise, and walk into school with power to dream and power to hope.

Remind them: I carry hope with me. I am loved. I am protected by something bigger than fear.

Today, Tomorrow and Every Day After

When you send them to school, remember, you're not sending them into darkness. You're sending light into the world.

Living, breathing proof that hope is stronger than fear. That love is more powerful than violence. That the future is still worth fighting for.

We cannot promise them safety. But we can show them that hope is real. And sometimes, hope is the very thing that keeps us safe.

Ready to send your children with hope they can feel? Shop the "Proof of Hope" hoodie and download your free "Sending Them with Hope" lunchbox notes.

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note on lowercase styling:

you may notice that “God” and “Jesus” appear in lowercase throughout the site. this isn’t a sign of irreverence—it’s simply a design default. the lowercase aesthetic reflects the tone and visual style of the omi brand, not the weight of the One being referenced. trust—His name is still above every name, and that’s honored here. (philippians 2:9)

Curating Your Heart: What Gets Space in Your Inner Life?

What if we treated our inner world with the same intentionality we bring to our homes?

You know that feeling when you walk into a beautifully curated space? Everything has its place. Nothing feels excessive or chaotic. Every item serves a purpose—either functional or deeply meaningful. The space breathes. It invites you to rest.

Now imagine your heart as that space.

What would you find there? What’s taking up room? What deserves to stay, and what’s just…taking up space?

The Art of Internal Minimalism

We’ve gotten really good at curating our external lives. We know which coffee table books spark joy, which throw pillows complement our aesthetic, which apps deserve real estate on our home screen. We can season-swap a closet in an afternoon and create Instagram-worthy flat lays of our morning routine.

But when it comes to our inner landscape—the thoughts we entertain, the voices we allow to influence us, the emotional patterns we’ve grown comfortable with—we often live like hoarders.

We hold onto criticism from people who don’t even know us anymore. We give precious mental real estate to hypothetical scenarios that will probably never happen. We let toxic thought patterns sprawl across our consciousness like digital clutter we’re too overwhelmed to organize.

What if we approached our hearts with the same discernment we bring to our living spaces?

What’s Really Living in Your Heart?

Take a moment. Close your eyes if you need to.

If you could walk through the rooms of your inner life right now, what would you see?

In the corner, there’s probably that voice that tells you you’re not enough. It’s been there so long you’ve forgotten it doesn’t belong to you—it’s something you picked up from a teacher, a parent, an ex, a culture that profits from your insecurity. It’s like holding onto a broken lamp because you’re used to working around it.

There’s likely a whole section dedicated to comparison. Screenshots of other people’s highlight reels. Internal scorecards measuring your progress against everyone else’s. It’s exhausting to maintain, and it never actually makes you feel better, but it feels so normal you’ve forgotten what peace without it would look like.

Maybe there’s a shrine to perfectionism. The belief that you have to have it all figured out before you can rest, before you can celebrate, before you can be proud of how far you’ve come. It’s beautiful in its way, but it’s keeping you from actually living.

And somewhere, probably buried under everything else, there are the things that actually matter. The quiet voice of wisdom that knows what you need. The memory of who you were before the world taught you who you should be. The dreams that still make your chest feel light when you let yourself think about them.

The Practice of Heart Curation

Curating your heart isn’t about perfection. It’s about intention.

It’s asking: Does this serve the person I’m becoming, or the person I was taught to be?

It’s learning to say: “Thank you for visiting, but this thought doesn’t get to live here anymore.”

It’s recognizing that you have more control over your inner environment than you think.

What Deserves to Stay

Truth that builds instead of breaks. The voice that says “you’re learning” instead of “you’re failing.” The perspective that sees struggle as growth instead of evidence of inadequacy.

Relationships that see you. Not just the parts of you that are convenient or comfortable, but the whole messy, beautiful, evolving you. People who can sit with your questions without needing to fix you.

Dreams that feel alive. Not the ones you think you should have, but the ones that make you feel more like yourself when you imagine them.

Hope that’s bigger than your circumstances. The kind that whispers “this isn’t the end of the story” when everything feels final.

What Needs to Go

The obligation to carry other people’s opinions as truth. Just because someone said it doesn’t mean it’s yours to hold.

The need to perform your way into belonging. You don’t have to earn your place in the world by being perfect, palatable, or productive.

The fear that slowing down means falling behind. Rest isn’t laziness. Reflection isn’t selfishness. Taking time to tend your heart isn’t a luxury—it’s necessary.

The belief that busy equals important. If your life feels like a museum where you’re only allowed to look but never touch, something needs to change.

Hope as Interior Design

Here’s what I’ve learned about hope: it’s not just something that happens to you. It’s something you create space for.

Hope needs room to breathe. It can’t grow in a heart cluttered with fear, comparison, and the pressure to be someone you’re not.

When you start curating your inner world with the same care you bring to your external spaces, something shifts. You begin to notice what actually nourishes you. You start protecting your peace like the precious resource it is. You realize that saying no to what doesn’t serve you is actually saying yes to what does.

This is where hope lives—in the spaciousness you create when you stop letting everything have access to your heart.

Starting Where You Are

You don’t have to overhaul your entire inner world tomorrow. But you can start with one small question:

“What’s one thing I can stop giving space to in my heart today?”

Maybe it’s the voice that tells you you’re behind in life. Maybe it’s the need to check your phone first thing in the morning. Maybe it’s the story you tell yourself about why you can’t pursue what you really want.

Start there. Create a little space. See what wants to grow in the room you’ve made.

Because here’s what I know about hope: it doesn’t need much space to start. But once it has room to breathe, it transforms everything.

Your heart isn’t a storage unit for everyone else’s expectations. It’s sacred space. What will you choose to keep there?

👇🏾 Join our email community for reflections on creating space for hope in your everyday life. Because the most beautiful homes are the ones where you can breathe—and that includes the home of your heart.

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note on lowercase styling:

you may notice that “God” and “Jesus” appear in lowercase throughout the site. this isn’t a sign of irreverence—it’s simply a design default. the lowercase aesthetic reflects the tone and visual style of the omi brand, not the weight of the One being referenced. trust—His name is still above every name, and that’s honored here. (philippians 2:9)

No King But God: Hope in the Midst of a Sh*tty (I Mean, Shifting!) Nation

Everywhere you turn, there’s a wall going up.

Some are made of bricks. Some of policy. Some of fear dressed as “order.”
Immigration headlines remind us—yet again—who this country believes belongs.
And who doesn’t.

Children are separated from parents.
Mothers wait for court dates that may never come.
People who fled war, hunger, persecution—now face cold floors and colder laws.

And yet, we say we’re the land of the free.

But freedom built on exclusion isn’t freedom.
It's monarchy masked as democracy.
And the truth is—there are no kings here.

Not in this Kingdom we belong to.
The Kingdom where Jesus sits at the well with the outsider.
Where the foreigner isn’t a threat but a mirror of ourselves.
Where no border, no badge, no government seal gets the final say.

Because Jesus didn’t just welcome the Samaritan woman—
He crossed into her region.
He walked the road most Jews avoided.
He entered her territory, sat on her land, and spoke her language of shame and survival until it turned into belonging.
The invitation of Jesus is not just to love the refugee as our neighbor—
But to walk in their shoes, sit in their tension, and dwell where they dwell.

He didn’t send hope from afar.
He became hope among them.

And that should reshape everything—especially for those of us who claim to follow Him.

Yet it’s not just policy makers or pundits who cry for walls;
It’s people with crosses around their necks and "God bless America" in their bios.
It's church folks praying revival while turning their backs on the very ones Jesus sought out.

But the gospel doesn’t build cages.
It builds bridges.

And if we are to be people of hope, we cannot look away.

Hope means we remember.
That even when kingdoms fail and leaders falter, God never does.
That the tides of injustice still answer to a higher tide.
That no amount of policy can override the invitation Jesus gave to the woman at the well:
“COME HERE. Drink what I have. Be with me and I'll be with you.”

no passport required.
no pedigree either.
just a desire for true freedom.

Because what drives these policies…
Is not practicality.
Is not protection.
It’s fear.

Fear that if someone else is seen, we’ll be forgotten.
Fear that if someone else is given power, we’ll lose ours.
Fear that inclusion will strip us of identity instead of grounding us in it.

But fear is a liar.
And fear breeds hopelessness.
Because fear shrinks the world.
Hope expands it.

God’s Kingdom makes room for all of us to thrive—but only through love.
Not power.
Not politics.
Not self-preservation.
Through the Spirit—who is not just Comforter, but Creator of hope itself.

So today, we pray for the refugee.
For the migrant mother.
The displaced father.
For the child who crossed desert and sea.
For the neighbor we don't see anymore.
The corner store owner who may lose everything.
The uncle who's looking over their shoulder.
the Godmother who doesn't want to leave her home.

And for every heart still clinging to fear as their compass, yes, even them.

We remember: hope isn’t tied to citizenship.
It’s tied to the cross.

In a country that often forgets its own story,
may we be people who live out ours.
No king but God.
No fear in love.
No shame in hope.

Hope is still home—especially for the displaced.

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note on lowercase styling:

you may notice that “God” and “Jesus” appear in lowercase throughout the site. this isn’t a sign of irreverence—it’s simply a design default. the lowercase aesthetic reflects the tone and visual style of the omi brand, not the weight of the One being referenced. trust—His name is still above every name, and that’s honored here. (philippians 2:9)

The Woman at the Well: Finding Hope in Out of the Way Places

She came to the well at noon.

the sun was boiling hot and women usually came at a time when there was less heat and more crowds. she came when there was more heat and less crowds. intentionally—she’d endure the sun if it meant avoiding the heat of the stares of other women.

she would take the long road to not be judged. no whispers, just water.

although she escaped the crowd, she did encounter Christ.

The woman at the well doesn’t get a name in John 4. What she gets is something far more transformative: a moment. the moment, the miracle of being seen.

When Jesus spoke to her, He didn’t start with her shame. He didn’t rehearse her failures like the townspeople had. He simply asked for water—and in doing so, offered her living water, Himself, instead.

And isn’t that just like Him?

Meeting Us Where We Are

Many of us find ourselves walking to our own “wells” in life—those isolated places where we try to fill what’s been emptied by disappointment, transition, or grief. Divorce. A lost job. A diagnosis. A season of doubt or disconnection.

But this story reminds us: Jesus doesn’t wait for us to clean up or come to Him in pristine condition. He meets us where we are—at the well, in the wilderness, in the middle of whatever we’re trying to run from. And like He did for her, He offers us a truth that changes everything.

“Whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst again.” (John 4:14)

Shame Cannot Stay Where Hope Dwells

The Samaritan woman came for physical water and left carrying something lasting—her story. Her story, one that had likely brought her pain for years, became the very tool God used to spread the gospel in her city.

When Jesus reveals Himself to her as the Messiah, her response is immediate and unfiltered: she leaves her jar, runs back into the town that had shunned her, and boldly says, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did.”

She doesn’t hide her past—she uses it. Her testimony becomes a bridge to hope.

This is the core of OMI’s heartbeat: that our stories—especially the messy, potentially society-filled shame-soaked ones—are not disqualifications. They are invitations. Hope doesn’t wait for perfection. It meets us in our humanity and makes room for transformation.

Your Story Still Speaks

Maybe you’ve felt like you’re not qualified to speak about faith. Maybe you’ve wondered if your story matters in the kingdom. Or maybe you’ve just been trying to survive and can’t imagine how your experience could ever help someone else.

But the woman at the well proves this: Jesus uses ordinary, broken moments to bring about extraordinary redemption.

She didn’t have all the answers. She just had an encounter—and the courage to share it.

Hope begins there.

IMAGINE NEVER BEING THIRSTY

That’s what Jesus offered her; Not just relief for the day—but restoration for her whole life.

In the ancient world, wells weren’t just for drawing water. They were social epicenters, sacred sites, and symbolic spaces. Meetings at wells were common in Hebrew love stories—Isaac’s bride was found at a well, so was Jacob’s, so was Moses’. The well was often the setting for covenant and connection.

and this was also a love story.

This was a divine appointment between a Jewish rabbi and a Samaritan woman. Their interaction broke religious, racial, gender, and moral boundaries all at once. Jews didn’t associate with Samaritans. Men didn’t initiate conversation with women like this in public. And rabbis certainly didn’t engage with those labeled impure.

Yet here is Jesus—Sharing space, sharing story. he gave her radical dignity. he gives you radical dignity.

He knew she had been passed from man to man. He knew her community saw her as a cautionary tale, not a human being. He knew she walked to the well at noon to avoid side-eyes and whispered prayers from women who thought themselves holier.

And still, He sat there. Still, He stayed.

He offered her living water—not just to quench her thirst, but to fill the cavern of longing she had tried to satisfy in every other way.

“I who speak to you am He.” (John 4:26) he is deeper than the messiah. he is the answer to everything she needed. her hope of life.

She dropped her jar, and with it, the life she’d known.
She ran toward the very people she had once avoided.

She became the first evangelist in Scripture. Not Peter. Not John.
Her.

Because when shame is replaced by hope, silence turns into testimony.

When You’re Afraid That Being Seen Means Being Shamed

This part is for the woman who avoids certain events because she doesn’t want to be asked, “Where’s your husband?”
The one who feels like she doesn’t fit in the women's ministry group because she has more questions than answers.
The one who’s been judged by what didn’t work out.
The one who’s been told “God can’t use that story.”

The well is for you.

She dropped her jar—the very thing she came for. Because after encountering the truth, she no longer needed to carry what she thought was essential for survival.

She didn’t go back to get “ready.”
She didn’t go back and clean herself up.
She ran into the town that had labeled her unworthy, and became the very reason they met the Messiah.

Hope STARTS here

When Jesus meets us, He doesn’t just rewrite the narrative.
He reclaims the parts we tried to bury.
He dignifies the details we thought disqualified us.
He turns the secret walk of survival into the sacred run of purpose.

And when we finally stop hiding?

Hope doesn’t whisper.
It runs.
It tells.
It invites others in.

So if you’ve been walking to your own well, wondering if God still sees you—He does.
And He’s not just asking for a drink.
He’s offering life.

Hope lives here.

👇🏾 Join our email community for reflections and resources to help you carry your story with grace and truth—because hope doesn’t end with you.

It starts with you.

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note on lowercase styling:

you may notice that “God” and “Jesus” appear in lowercase throughout the site. this isn’t a sign of irreverence—it’s simply a design default. the lowercase aesthetic reflects the tone and visual style of the omi brand, not the weight of the One being referenced. trust—His name is still above every name, and that’s honored here. (philippians 2:9)

The Vocabulary of Victory: Saying What Hope Would Say

More than what you do, what do you say when everything is falling apart?

Yesterday, my pastor, Overseer Mack of The L.I.V.E. Church, preached on Habakkuk 3:16-19.

16 I heard and my heart pounded,
    my lips quivered at the sound;
decay crept into my bones,
    and my legs trembled.
Yet I will wait patiently for the day of calamity
    to come on the nation invading us.

17  Though the fig tree does not bud
    and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
    and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
    and no cattle in the stalls,

18 yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
    I will be joyful in God my Savior.

19 The Sovereign Lord is my strength;
    he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
    he enables me to tread on the heights.

It was one of those sermons that doesn't just meet you where you are. It gives (literal) language that you didn't know you needed.

“The Vocabulary of Victory” as he named it is the decision to understand your circumstances but choose to praise, honor, and trust the Lord anyhow with your words. This wisdom comes alive in verse 18 “yet I will rejoice.”

And instantly, as a writer, that phrase stuck with me.

Because I believe words, our vocabulary, hold weight. They shape our world. They reveal what we believe. And sometimes, they’re the only thing we have when circumstances make no sense.

The Vision and the Wait

Most people know Habakkuk for chapter 2: “Write the vision and make it plain...” It’s the scripture we quote when we’re dreaming. Planning. Declaring. But chapter 3 is when the real faith you need to see a vision unfold kicks in.

In chapter 2, God tells Habakkuk to write down the promise. In chapter 3, Habakkuk shows us how to live while waiting for it to manifest, even while it looks bleak. We all face these chapter 3 seasons.

Growing up in church, I used to roll my eyes a little when preachers said, “Everybody’s going through something.” It sounded too broad. Too dramatic. Unreal. Surely, not everybody. Not all the time.

But now I’m older. My friends are older. And I’ve lived long enough to know they were right.

Everybody is going through something. A diagnosis. A disappointment. A delay. A loss they don’t talk about out loud. A dream that’s slower than expected. A child they’re worried about. A mind they can’t seem to settle. A heart still healing.

My timeline is full of beauty and burnout all at once.

This is why our vocabulary matters so deeply. The words we choose when facing emptiness reveal what we truly believe about God's faithfulness.

Habakkuk isn’t standing in the promise God just told him to write out—he’s sitting in lack.

• The fig tree isn’t blooming.

• The vines have no grapes.

• The fields are empty.

• The stalls are bare.

And yet, he says: “Yet, I will rejoice in the Lord; I will be joyful in God my Savior.” (Habakkuk 3:18)

That yet is everything. It’s not denial. It’s not pretending things aren’t hard.
It’s a decision. A declaration. A vocabulary rooted in truth that goes deeper than the moment.

Scriptures That Speak in the Middle

When Pastor Mack preached that message, a few scriptures came flooding to mind, a few others I had to search for to remember, but they are:

• Job 13:15 – “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.”
  That’s trust even in pain.

• 2 Corinthians 4:8–9 – “We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed..”
  That’s pressure without collapse.

• Psalm 42:11 – “Why, my soul, are you downcast?... I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God.”
  That’s worship when you don’t feel like it.

• Lamentations 3:21–23 – “Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope. Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.
  That’s remembering who God is when all else fails.

• Romans 5:3–5 – “We glory in tribulations... knowing that suffering produces perseverance... and hope does not put us to shame.”
  That’s endurance with an eternal perspective.

These aren’t just verses for comfort. They’re a blueprint for how to speak while you wait. While you suffer. While what you believe hasn’t shown up yet.

The Power of Yet and Not

Each verse carries two powerful little words that reshape our entire perspective:

Yet - the conjunction of contrast that pivots from circumstance to conviction:

• Yet will I trust Him

• Yet praise Him

• Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope

Not - the boundary that limits the power of our problems:

• Not crushed.

• Not in despair.

• Not forsaken.

• Not destroyed.

• Not consumed.

• Not put to shame.

That might sound like semantics, but for our faith, it’s everything.

Because our God doesn’t always stop the storm, but He anchors us through it. He doesn’t promise we won’t feel it but He promises we won’t fall apart. We are not what the situation says we are. We are not finished just because things look bad.

This Is Why OMI Exists

To give language to your “yet.”

To remind you that hope still lives here—even when the field is empty and the tree hasn’t bloomed.

We don’t sell clothes. We wear reminders.

And this is one:
Victory isn’t always a change in your situation.
Sometimes, it’s a choice.

So Today…

I’m choosing the vocabulary of victory.

To keep believing. To keep praising and holding on to hope even when the fig tree is bare.

I’m choosing to say:

• Yet I will rejoice.

• Still, I trust You.

• Hope does not put me to shame.

• Great is Your faithfulness.

Not because anything has changed, not because the promise has arrived.

But now.

Because victory is not an outcome.

It’s a position.

If you're reading this in a hard season, I hope you remember—
The vision still speaks (Habakkuk 2:2). And your words in the waiting matter just as much as the promise itself.

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note on lowercase styling:

you may notice that “God” and “Jesus” appear in lowercase throughout the site. this isn’t a sign of irreverence—it’s simply a design default. the lowercase aesthetic reflects the tone and visual style of the omi brand, not the weight of the One being referenced. trust—His name is still above every name, and that’s honored here. (philippians 2:9)

Finding Hope When it’s Hard to hope

Hope isn't just a nice feeling, it's essential survival equipment. And I don't know about you, but I've had seasons where hope felt as scarce as rain in a drought.

Here's what I've discovered: Biblical hope isn't about positive thinking or blind optimism. It's about holding onto truth when your feelings are screaming something else entirely.

These five principles have been my lifeline. Maybe they'll become yours too.

1. Remember Who God Is, Not Just What He’s done

In our darkest moments, we often focus on what he isn't doing, he’s not healing, not intervening, not making things better. But hope springs from who God is, not just what He does.

He is faithful even when circumstances aren't. He is present even when He feels distant. He is working even when nothing seems to be changing.

When I fix my eyes on His character rather than my circumstances, hope finds room to breathe again, trust again and try again.

2. Community Carries Hope When You Can't

I used to think strength meant handling everything alone. I was wrong. i still have to remind myself how wrong i was when I fall back into wanting to handle everything alone even now.

There's a beautiful design to how hope operates within community. When your own hope reservoir runs dry, someone else's can sustain you. Then, when they're empty, you can return the favor.

The people who've seen me through my hardest seasons didn't necessarily offer solutions—they simply refused to let me walk alone. That shared burden created space for hope to reenter.

Who's walking alongside you? Who needs you to carry hope for them right now?

3. Small Faithfulness Produces Lasting Hope

Hope isn't always about dramatic breakthroughs. Sometimes it's about the quiet determination to remain faithful in small ways.

Praying when you don't feel like it. Reading scripture when it feels dry. being faithful to things that aren’t being faithful to you. staying committed when things look like they might fall apart. Showing up. Doing the next right thing, even when you can't see ten steps ahead.

These small acts of faithfulness are like planting seeds that will eventually grow into something beautiful—that’s not a guess, it’s a promise.

4. Lamenting Is Part of Hoping

We've lost the language of lament in our highlight-reel culture. But lament isn't the opposite of hope, it's a crucial part of it.

The Psalms show us that honest grief expressed to God doesn't diminish hope; it creates room for authentic hope and trust to grow. Pretending everything's fine when it's not isn't faith—it's denial.

So go ahead: tell God exactly how you feel. He can handle your questions, your anger, your disappointment. Real hope has nothing to fear from honesty.

5. Hope Is a Practice, Not Just a Feeling

Hope isn't something we passively wait to feel—it's something we actively practice.

We practice hope when we intentionally recall God's faithfulness in the past. We practice hope when we choose gratitude even in difficult circumstances. We practice hope when we speak truth to ourselves instead of listening to our fears.

Like any practice, it gets stronger with repetition. The more we exercise hope, the more resilient it becomes.

Hope isn't the absence of struggle; it's the presence of strength in the midst of it. And that strength comes not from pretending everything's fine, but from anchoring ourselves to something—Someone—who transcends our circumstances.

So whatever season you're in right now, remember: hope is here. Hope is available. And more importantly, hope is holding onto you, even when your grip feels weak.

What principles help you maintain hope during difficult seasons? I'd love to hear from you

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note on lowercase styling:

you may notice that “God” and “Jesus” appear in lowercase throughout the site. this isn’t a sign of irreverence—it’s simply a design default. the lowercase aesthetic reflects the tone and visual style of the omi brand, not the weight of the One being referenced. trust—His name is still above every name, and that’s honored here. (philippians 2:9)

What Romans 15:13 Teaches Us About Everyday Hope

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him,

so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” — Romans 15:13

✨ This benediction in Romans isn’t a random encouragement—it’s the closing prayer of Paul’s long appeal for unity in the early church. Written to a divided group of Jewish and Gentile believers navigating theological tension, cultural hostility, and weariness from persecution (hmm…does that sound familiar to anyone in America right now?…maybe it’s just me), this verse is a plea. Paul is blessing them not with material promises, but with the kind of inner strength that could only come from God Himself: joy, peace, and overflowing hope—not circumstantial, but Only Spirit-powered.

✨ And it lands for us, too. Maybe you’re not facing persecution—maybe your friend is, or your cousin is, or you’re hearing about it. And on top of that, you might be scrolling between laundry loads, in between meetings, or trying to quiet your mind long enough to feel anything other than pressure. Trying to relieve the stress of life that builds between bills, burnout, and being the strong one for everyone else. This verse might’ve been written for ancient Rome, but it holds a process we need today… you need today.

A God Who Specializes in Hope

Let’s start here: “May the God of hope…”
God isn’t just the giver of hope. He’s the God of hope.

Hope is not a supplement to His character.
It is His character.

Which means… He doesn’t just hand it out.
He embodies it.

When we feel low on hope, we aren’t just missing a feeling.
We’re missing a connection to the source.

✨ Imagine being in the middle of a storm with no shelter in sight. Now imagine seeing someone walk toward you, not with an umbrella, but with a whole house. That’s who God is in this verse. Not a temporary solution. A permanent presence. A permanent protector. 

COMPLETE JOY AND PEACE

“…fill you with all joy and peace…”

The word Paul uses for fill in the original Greek is plerosai (πληρῶσαι)—to make full, to supply completely, to saturate every part. It’s the same word used when Jesus fulfills prophecy, or when the Spirit fills the room in Acts 2. It’s a full-to-the-brim, nothing-left-untouched kind of filling.

And it’s not some joy and peace.
It’s all.

Not scraps of joy.
Not slivers of peace just to get you through the day.
All. Enough for your heartbreak and your hope. Enough for the hard parts of your story and the holy ones. Enough to reach what you haven’t even told anyone you’re struggling with.

This verse doesn’t tell you to go find joy and peace. It tells you to be filled with them.

✨ Imagine pouring water into a cracked jar and watching it miraculously hold the water. That’s what God does. He doesn’t just patch up what’s broken—He fills what seems impossible to hold anything. He lets joy and peace sit in the same places where fear and failure once lived.

You don’t have to fake it.
you don’t have to wait to be fixed.
You just have to open up.
Let the God of hope do the filling.

Trust Is the Turning Point

“…as you trust in Him…”

This verse hinges on trust.

Not perfect theology.
Not a morning routine.
Not proof of progress.

Just trust.

And let’s be honest—sometimes trusting God feels like holding your breath underwater, hoping He remembers you’re down there.

But that kind of trust—the shaky, surrendering kind—is exactly what He honors.
It’s not about strength. It’s about posture.

Trust is not the absence of doubt. It’s what we choose to do with our doubt.

Do we bring it to Him—or do we bury it and pretend we’re fine?

Romans 15:13 invites us to bring it.
To trust enough to let Him hold the pieces we’ve dropped.

The Kind of Hope That Overflows

“…so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”

Hope isn’t for holding. It’s for spilling over.
it spills into your parenting, your friendships, your decisions, your dreams.

because the Spirit is present, you have power to let it fill you and overflow in your life with trust that He pushes you to use.

The word “overflow” implies that what’s being poured in is too much to contain.

The kind that spills into rooms you never planned to enter because God knows someone in there needs what you’re carrying.

That’s the kind of hope God gives—one that doesn’t just hold you up, but holds others up through you.

And that starts with letting Him fill you again.

Hope in Real Life

So what does this mean when:

• Your kid is melting down again and you’re out of patience?

• You’re still waiting for the breakthrough you prayed for six months ago?

• You’re showing up for others while secretly needing someone to show up for you?

• you're barely making it to the end of the day without yelling, quitting, or giving up?

• There’s more month than money.

• You forgot to eat again.

• You love your life, but also want to run away from it sometimes.

You don’t have to create hope today. You just have to connect to it.

You can stop trying to manufacture peace.
You can let joy come to you.
You can trust God not because everything is fixed, but because He is still God when it’s not.

He is the God of hope.
And hope lives at your address, not just in your Bible app.

He Fills. You Trust. Hope Overflows.

Let Romans 15:13 be more than a verse you skim.
Let it be the prayer you breathe before you send the next email.
Let it be the truth you speak when you feel like you’re running on empty.
Let it be the quiet confidence that this—this—is how hope begins again.

👇🏾 Download our free Romans 15:13 prayer and reflection guide
to start your own rhythm of hope—even in the middle of real life.
[Download now]

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note on lowercase styling:

you may notice that “God” and “Jesus” appear in lowercase throughout the site. this isn’t a sign of irreverence—it’s simply a design default. the lowercase aesthetic reflects the tone and visual style of the omi brand, not the weight of the One being referenced. trust—His name is still above every name, and that’s honored here. (philippians 2:9)

The Science Behind Hope and How It Changes Us

Hope isn't just a spiritual concept—it's a psychological one too. And research is catching up to what people of faith have known for centuries: hope transforms us, inside and out.

I've been fascinated by the growing body of scientific research about hope. Not the general "wishful thinking" kind, but what researchers like Dr. Charles R. Snyder see as a cognitive process that involves goals, pathways to those goals, and the agency to pursue them.

This kind of hope literally changes our brains.

When we experience hopelessness, our brain's stress response goes into overdrive. Cortisol floods our system. Our prefrontal cortex—responsible for planning, decision-making, and rational thought—becomes impaired. We get stuck in survival mode, unable to think creatively or see possibilities.

But when we cultivate hope, something remarkable happens. Studies using brain imaging show that hopeful thinking activates different neural pathways. Our brains release dopamine and oxytocin instead of cortisol. We think more clearly, solve problems more effectively, and connect better with others.

Hope isn't a luxury—it's essential survival equipment. and, I love that.

And the benefits go far beyond our brains. People with higher hope scales show:

• Better recovery from illness and injury

• More effective pain management

• Stronger immune systems

• Greater resilience to stress

• Improved academic and work performance

• More satisfying relationships

What's particularly fascinating is how hope differs from optimism. Optimism is a general expectation that good things will happen. Hope is more specific, more active, more strategic. It acknowledges obstacles but believes in the possibility of overcoming them, and actively works to get there.

In fact, some studies suggest that hope is most powerful not when things are going well, but precisely when they aren't. It's in our darkest moments that hope exerts its most transformative influence.

This reminds me of Romans 5:3-5: "We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame..."

Science is confirming what Scripture has always taught: hope isn't just a cute feeling. It's a force that fundamentally changes how we experience and respond to our world.

So how do we cultivate this kind of active, transformative hope?

Research suggests several practices:

1. Set meaningful goals and break them into manageable steps.

2. Identify multiple pathways to those goals.

3. Practice flexible thinking when obstacles arise.

4. Tell yourself a different story about challenges. ("This is difficult but possible" instead of "This is impossible.")

5. Surround yourself with hopeful people.

6. Recall past successes in overcoming obstacles.

For people of faith, I'd add one more essential practice: root your hope in something bigger than yourself or your circumstances. Temporal hopes may disappoint us, but hope anchored in God's character transcends our changing situations.

What I find most beautiful about all this research is how it affirms the integrated nature of our being. Our spiritual, emotional, and physical selves aren't separate compartments—they're intricately connected aspects of a whole person.

When we cultivate spiritual hope, we're not just engaging in some ethereal exercise. We're rewiring our neural pathways. We're strengthening our immune systems. We're enhancing our cognitive abilities.

Hope changes us—body, mind, and spirit. And through us, it changes the world.

What practices help you maintain hope during difficult times? I'd love to hear your experiences.

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note on lowercase styling:

you may notice that “God” and “Jesus” appear in lowercase throughout the site. this isn’t a sign of irreverence—it’s simply a design default. the lowercase aesthetic reflects the tone and visual style of the omi brand, not the weight of the One being referenced. trust—His name is still above every name, and that’s honored here. (philippians 2:9)

5 Practical Ways to Cultivate Hope in Your Daily Life

Hope isn't just something we feel, it's something we practice.

Like any meaningful quality, hope grows stronger through intentional cultivation. rather than waiting for hopeful feelings to spontaneously appear, let’s create conditions where hope can thrive.

Here are five practical ways to cultivate hope in your everyday life:

1. Start a Hope Collection

Our brains have a negativity bias—we're wired to remember the painful, disappointing, and frightening experiences more vividly than positive ones. This worked great for our ancestors avoiding predators, but it works against hope and it works against us.

Combat this by deliberately collecting evidence of hope. Keep a journal, a photo album, or even a jar of small notes documenting moments when:

• Prayers were answered

• Someone showed unexpected kindness

• You overcame something you thought would defeat you

• Beauty appeared in the midst of struggle

• God's presence felt especially real

On dark days, revisit your hope collection. It becomes tangible evidence that darkness doesn't have the final word.

2. Practice Presence

Hopelessness often stems from getting stuck in past regrets or future fears. Hope thrives in the present moment.

Each day, take at least five minutes to fully inhabit the present through practices like:

• Noticing five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, and one you can taste

• Following your breath as it moves in and out

• Naming what you're grateful for in this exact moment

• Paying attention to where you sense God's presence right now

Present-moment awareness reminds us that even in difficult seasons, this particular moment often contains gifts we miss when overwhelmed by bigger (and temporal) worries.

3. Curate Your Inputs

Hope is contagious—but so is hopelessness. Be intentional about what and who you allow to influence your mind and heart.

This might mean:

• Taking breaks from news and social media when they overwhelm you

• Seeking out stories of resilience and redemption

• Surrounding yourself with people who nurture hope rather than feed despair

• Choosing books, music, and art that strengthen your spirit

This isn't about denial or avoiding reality. It's about making sure you're getting a complete picture rather than an artificially negative one.

4. Use Your Hands

When we feel hopeless, we often get stuck in our heads. Working with our hands provides a pathway out.

Consider activities like:

• Gardening (there's something profoundly hopeful about planting seeds, even though I’d hesitate to personally do it)

• Creating art, even simple art (I love to color on my phone!)

• Cooking nourishing food (or junk food)

• Building or fixing something (even if it’s Legos or magnatiles)

• Helping someone in tangible ways

Physical creation reminds us of our agency. We may not be able to control everything, but we can bring something new into existence through our actions.

5. Speak Hope Aloud

Hope grows when articulated. Find ways to verbalize hope, both to yourself and others.

Try practices like:

• Speaking declarations of truth each morning

• Sharing your hope journey with someone who needs encouragement

• Praying hopeful prayers, even when you're not feeling hopeful

• Mentoring someone younger on their journey

The act of putting hope into words strengthens our own conviction while simultaneously offering it to others.

None of these practices will instantly transform deep hopelessness into unshakable confidence. Hope usually grows gradually, like a bamboo tree rather than a lightning strike.

But consistent practice creates momentum. Each small act of hope makes the next one easier. Eventually, hope becomes less of a conscious choice and more of a default orientation—not because your circumstances are perfect, but because you've trained yourself to recognize and cultivate hope.

What practices help you maintain hope? I'd love to hear what works for you.

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note on lowercase styling:

you may notice that “God” and “Jesus” appear in lowercase throughout the site. this isn’t a sign of irreverence—it’s simply a design default. the lowercase aesthetic reflects the tone and visual style of the omi brand, not the weight of the One being referenced. trust—His name is still above every name, and that’s honored here. (philippians 2:9)