There are some stories you get a kick out of telling, and one that I’ve repeated often just to get that kick is about us older cousins talking Little Howard into relieving himself on an electric fence when he was maybe 5 years old. We weren’t far removed from his age, but we were removed enough to know better than to do what we were asking him to – and to know better than to ask him. But I suppose that’s what cousins and older brothers are for. To give us stories to pass on.

We of course “didn’t mean him no harm” and the real jolt Little Howard got was from getting to hang out and fit in with his older siblings. Funny what we’ll do to fit in, be accepted.

The electric fence incidence was one in a long line of efforts to have a little fun at Little Howard’s expense, a price he was always willing to pay. Constantly pestering us to let him play with us, we’d come up with something to do to him which we thought would send him away. Not one to be easily “R-U-N-N-O-F-T”, he’d always grin and bear it. He could grin and bear it like no one’s business.

In another oft repeated story, I rode in the back of a pickup truck with Little Howard, his older brother and sister, all the way from North Mississippi to Houston, Texas - a 700 mile, 14 hour drive at the time, not counting the time to change flats. Little Howard’s dad, Uncle Ferrel, was looking for work and I got to tag along on their grand adventure, either as a welcome distraction or as a favor to my folks. At least the truck bed had a camper top on it, and a twin sized mattress in it, just perfect for wrestling. I can remember the whole trip Little Howard carrying on some kind of antics to try and keep his older kin’s attention.

After evening services Sunday several weeks ago, I got a call from my sister that Little Howard was in a coma, on life support. A victim of this world, he had given up and tried to take his own life. All grown up, he’s never quite fit in, and laid off again from a long line of soon to be exported jobs, he had found enough of an excuse in his situation to try and end it all, here.

A sad, sad turn of events.

I don’t understand it, though it’s probably not fair to people who have felt that low to pretend to analyze what they are thinking and feeling. Not that I’ve never felt low, or haven’t ever wished that there wasn’t some way for my situation to be completely different.

Like when there’s too much month left at the end of the money. Or when my once darling child has turned into some teenage semblance of myself, paying me back for angst given to my folks. Or when once strong, close connections with friend and family are frayed, or worse, are unraveling quickly. Or when I’ve let somebody down who was really counting on me – even if they didn’t know it. As bad as it gets, I still don’t understand it being bad enough that there’s no way out but to end it. Seems like there’s got to be some something worth living for. But I suppose that’s the point to the Little Howards of the world. There’s nothing worth living for. There’s no hope.

Hope. Used to be, folks set store by the word. When the second child just died at 5 years old because there was no money to pay for a doctor – and he couldn’t have done that much anyway – well there was hope that you’d see that child again. And there was hope in the comfort that would surely come, somehow, from God Almighty who had Himself experienced your loss and would particularly be able to encourage.

Or when dad or husband didn’t come home because a coal mine collapsed on him – well there was always hope that he’d be seen again, forever. Or when mother dear gave her life giving life to another, there was always hope of an eternal reunion. Hope. It kept people going through so much more than our microwave supper era lives face.

Hope. Today it seems like a foreign word, doesn’t it? Not one we use much anymore, much less think about. Who has time for hope? We’re going to live forever anyway, so our lives and choices say. Way too busy, here, to sit and ponder the eternal, what’s next, our finiteness. That’s usually the context hope comes up in, sitting and pondering at death’s door, or at least at the hospital’s.

I don’t know why Little Howard tried to take his own life – but I’m certain a contributing factor was at the end of the day he had no hope. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing, no One, larger to trust in, to lean on. No hope that it would be better, eventually. And I wonder how much hope do we have our own selves. To see us through when there’s another dirty dish, or more abuse by those whom we love, or when we see no way out. Where’s our hope?

1 Peter 3:15 says to live our lives in such a way that people will see that we’ve got hope, that we’ve got an anchor of the soul (Hebrews 6:19) when life’s boat rocks, that we’ve got something to keep us going when the way looks dark and we’re worn out (Isaiah 40:31), that we’ve got hope of life everlasting (Titus 3:7) It says to live our lives in such a way – by making Christ the Lord of our hearts – that people will demand to hear the story about where do we get our hope.

Is that the story we often get a kick out of repeating?

1 Peter 3:15 but sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts, always being ready to make a defense to everyone who asks you to give an account for the hope that is in you, yet with gentleness and reverence; Isaiah 40:31 Yet those who hope in the Lord will gain new strength; They will mount up with wings like eagles, They will run and not get tired, They will walk and not become weary. Hebrews 6:19 This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, a hope both sure and steadfast and one which enters within the veil, Titus 3:7 So that being justified by His grace we would be made heirs according to the hope of eternal life.