[6 minute read]

Have you felt the weight of uncertainty lately? With fast-moving news, rising food costs, political and denominational tensions, and families stretched by conflict or loss, it’s easy to feel weary, unsure about what lies ahead. Yet, especially in times like these, hope is not a luxury or a fleeting feeling. Hope is many things at once—a deep feeling that stirs, a desire that reaches, a thought that imagines something different. It is a deliberate act, a quiet resistance against the resignation to the world’s brokenness and negativity that weigh on us.

Hope is not merely optimism or wishful thinking; it is a conscious posture toward possibility, renewal, and seeing the potential for good even amid difficulty. It is the open door out of a dark room. It’s the threshold between despair and the glimmer of possibility.

Why Hope Matters — and Why It’s Under Pressure

This won’t be a surprise – across Canada, many are struggling to sustain hope. Statistics Canada has tracked hope over recent years. They reported that in 2016, 75% of Canadians reported feeling hopeful about the future. That number decreased to 64% in 2021, and 55% in 2025.  

Hope and mental health are deeply intertwined. When hope wanes, despair, anxiety, and isolation can creep up and catch us off guard. However, when hope is nurtured, our minds and bodies can rest, imagine, and heal.

Clinicians often describe hope as a psychological lifeline — the thread that helps people keep moving toward safety, purpose, and connection. It’s what allows us to believe that our circumstances, relationships, or emotional states are not fixed. Hope means change is possible.

A person struggling with depression will notice that new hope doesn’t erase pain, but it gives us the courage to face it. It is the small open door in the walls of our fear, inviting us toward possibility, healing, and the quiet conviction that life can be good again.

Hope as Choice and Protest

Hope is not always a feeling we have to wait for to show up. It’s a discipline we choose to practice. Choosing hope is an act of resistance — against despair, against isolation, and against the temptation to vilify others when life feels uncertain.

At our most primitive, when we are most stressed, we risk reverting to a very simple mindset: who is on my team, and who is not? Who can I blame for this problem?  We lean toward dividing the world into “us” and “them.” Choosing hope resists this narrative, taking on a very different posture. A hopeful posture allows us to remain open, curious, and compassionate in the midst of difficulty, keeping the door open when the world seems intent on closing it.

A hopeful posture allows us to ask, what might be going on beneath this person’s reaction? Could the cranky neighbour chastising children playing on the street be sincerely concerned about safety rather than simply mean? The choice of hope helps us see the redemptive threads in others without excusing harmful behaviour. It is the threshold where understanding meets patience, the open door where connection can begin.

The Four Dimensions of Hope

Emotional hope

For many, this is what we think of when we imagine hope. It is a felt experience of possibility, imagining improvement in current circumstances. But this doesn’t capture its depth. Rather than a naïve cheerfulness or denial of pain, it coexists with lament. It’s the first meal out with friends after the death of a spouse. It’s getting back behind the wheel after a car accident. 

We need hope’s open door when we feel stuck in a dark room filled with lament; that door becomes the way forward.

Cognitive hope

There is a mental architecture of hope, built of goals we set, solutions we imagine, and self-agency that move us forward. Psychologist C. R. Snyder describes hope as “a cognitive motivational system” composed of agency and pathways, believing both that something better is possible and that we have a way to get there. It’s like locks on the door. Each solution, each plan, each decision is a key to a lock, opening the path forward.  

This can look like the choice to journal, reflecting on our story, and alongside our recording of the day’s pain, we create a list of gratefulness or connections. This can look like the choice of time with a friend that builds us up, rather than a friend that amplifies anger or frustration. Cognitive hope creates an internal framework that works to keep the door open and let the light in.

Spiritual hope

Spiritual hope is the heartbeat of faith. It is the deep conviction that meaning and renewal can emerge even amid suffering. It situates our personal journey within a larger story, a story of Love, redemption, and purpose, reminding us that we are never walking alone.

As Christian theologian Jürgen Moltmann observes, hope is not a vague wish or shallow optimism. It is a forward-looking trust rooted in the promises of God, a trust that does not escape the present but transforms it. True hope strengthens resilience in the face of hardship, inspires acts of compassion and justice, and nurtures the belief that what is broken can still be made whole.

Relational hope

Relational hope grows through connection. It is the bolstered feeling a child experiences when a comforting parent appears, the grace we feel seeing ourselves through the eyes of someone who loves us, and the stubborn conviction that strained relationships can be redeemed. 

Conflict, especially around the holidays, can muffle this hope. Family gatherings may bring tension or unresolved stories to the surface, creating dread instead of warmth. Yet the longing we feel for closeness and the love we’ve experienced in the past is itself a sign of relational hope at work. It is the memory of a door we once passed through and would like to pass through again. 

Practicing Hope

Consider these small actions that can grow hope in your daily life:

1 Name one small hope each morning. Ask, “What can I do to invite hope into this today?”

2 Notice one open door in your life. Is there an act of kindness, a creative idea, a quiet strength in someone else?

3 Review your relationships. Who are you most critical of? What values might they hold that you can honour, even amid disagreement?

4 Pair lament with hope. Each week, name what feels heavy or lost — and one thing that still draws you forward.

5 Guard against toxic positivity. Acknowledge pain honestly. Hope grows best in truth, not denial.

6 Open doors for others. Ask: “Who around me needs a glimmer of hope today — and what small thing could I do to offer it?”

Reflection Prompts

• Where do I feel walls or distance in my family or other relationships? And if I can, what small gesture could open a door this season?
• Who in my life might be waiting for a glimmer of hope from me — a word, a gesture, or simply my presence?
• How can I hold both my fear and my hope simultaneously, allowing connection to emerge even amid tension?

The Work of Hope

Hope does not turn away from suffering. It leans in, listening with patience and curiosity, even when it would be easier to judge or look away. Hope can be a loud voice of protest, calling others to join a vision of healing and growth. It can also be quiet, almost imperceptible, like a narrow crack of light in a dark room.

It is an act of quiet rebellion against the pressures and fractures of our world. It waits patiently, like an open door, ready for us to step through. That small sliver of light changes everything—obstacles that once tripped us up become easier to navigate, and problems that seemed insurmountable begin to feel more manageable.

When we hold open that door for someone else, the light spreads. Every act of hope becomes an invitation to possibility. Solutions, compassion, and connections are more visible and easier to grasp.  

 Friends, may you find that door, and may hope meet you there.

Jennifer Bowen M.Div., RMFT, RP, is the Executive Director of Shalem Mental Health Network.

Resources

Curt Thompson, The Deepest Place: Suffering and the Formation of Hope (Zondervan, 2023) – how pain and community can form durable hope.

Henri Nouwen, Turn My Mourning into Dancing (Doubleday, 2001) – a short, beautiful reflection on hope through vulnerability.

Kate Bowler, Good Enough: 40ish Devotionals for a Life of Imperfection (Convergent, 2022)

Brené Brown, Atlas of the Heart (Random House, 2021)

Makoto Fujimura, Art and Faith: A Theology of Making (Yale, 2021) 

Groopman, Jerome. The Anatomy of Hope: How People Prevail in the Face of Illness. (Random House, New York, 2004.)