When We Outsource Hope

What’s been carrying your hope lately—and if you’re honest, how’s that going?

When the world shakes, we all go looking for something solid.

Peace sounds good. 

Peace-MAKING costs something.

When everything feels unstable, we reach for a foundation—something that will finally make us feel safe. We look for a guarantee. A fix. A reason to breathe again. We tell ourselves that if the right things fall into place—if the chaos cools down, if the pressure lifts, if the system works—then we’ll be okay.

But if we’re honest, that’s us trying to outsource hope.

And a lot of what feels solid is actually sand.

And the scary part is how convincing sand can feel.

The analogy of “sand” represents a misplaced trust: the belief that power, status, control, or outcomes can bear the weight of our deepest needs. The world trains us to protect our image, secure our position, and keep climbing, because security starts to look like never being shaken.

But storms have a way of telling the truth.

Storms don’t reveal your strength—

they reveal your foundation.

So the question isn’t “How do I get through this without feeling anything?”

The question is: What am I building on?

Jesus offers a different blueprint—not some TED Talk on a strategy for winning, but a way of living that can survive the storm. Real stability shows up when we choose to include the outsider instead of tightening our circle. When we stop chasing the center of influence and start noticing the people on the margins. When we pick simplicity over the exhausting race for more. When we choose authentic connection over the pressure to perform.

This is the Rock.

And this is what it’s been about.

Matthew 7:24–27 says, “Everyone then who hears these words of mine (from his sermon on the mount) and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.”

But this is where everything changes:

When we stop waiting for someone else to save us and start living the Jesus model in our own neighborhoods, we stop reacting to chaos—and start creating pockets of peace.

Not with control.

With practice.

Not with winning.

With witness.

ANY of us can live this.

One small act at a time.

So let’s begin the practice. Let’s take a breath. Let’s stop checking the feed for hope and start practicing it. Or worse, allow the feed to bring us further into despair. Let’s be people who don’t just hear the words, but are brave enough to live them—building a house of love that no storm can wash away.

Reflect

When you feel anxious this week, notice where your hope runs first.

Is it running toward an outcome… or toward the steady practice of love?

Act

Choose one small act of resistance against the chaos:

Feed someone. Visit a neighbor. Send the text. Offer the apology. Listen instead of escalating.

Not perfect—just real.

Engage

Where is your circle too tight right now?

What would it look like to “shake up the status quo” with kindness in your community?