Thanks for the reminder, Michelle.

Your dramatic woe-fest with Oprah the other day is a very timely lesson on the value and necessity of hope. More importantly, it should make us stop and reconsider the source from whence comes our hope. You seem convinced that hope flew into town on your husband’s wings in 2008, and has spent the last eight years floating gracefully around the country, spreading its glow and relief on all the loyal souls below. Now that Barack Obama’s reign is at an end and the appointed replacement has failed to ascend to the throne, you are equally convinced that all hope is gone, since it will have to depart with your husband when he takes his leave of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Your crestfallen face and the earnestness in your voice clearly communicate your sense of despair and fear for the future. What do we have now, after all, if we no longer have hope?

No doubt there are millions of Americans right now who will climb on board your hopeless train and ride it with you and Barack, wailing all the way. I wish you well, but I won’t be joining you.

Examining Our Hope

You’ve given all of us a real opportunity to examine our hope, the source of our hope, and where we are perhaps grasping at false hopes, or grasping at hope from the wrong places. What better time than right now to take stock of such important inventory, as we celebrate the very birth of Hope into a dark and desperate world.

I’ll lead off — if the worst had happened in November, and we were set to inaugurate Hillary Clinton as the next President, I have no problem admitting I would be troubled, profoundly disappointed, and gravely concerned for the future of the nation. I remain firmly convinced that Hillary Clinton was a disaster of epic proportion for our country and the world, and we have inexplicably, mercifully been spared her horrible reign. Deo Gratias.

That said, shame on me if I ever proceed into life with the sort of doom and gloom that oozed forth from your mouth during that interview with Oprah. Shame on me if I ever believe that my hope or the lack thereof rests with any political leader, or any government.

To quote the popular hymn, my hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. Nothing less. If it is built on anything less, then my disappointment is guaranteed.

It’s natural for us to feel a sense of hope when a promising leader takes the helm, and good changes are on the horizon, and the times seem poised to take an upswing. There’s nothing wrong with that. By the same token, it’s understandable that we feel distress, sadness, even alarm when a terrible leader takes control and we look down the road to the trouble quickly approaching. Good leaders bring with them a renewed optimism, energy and security; bad rulers take all that away and leave us feeling fearful and powerless.

Obviously you and many people around the country have decided that President-elect Trump belongs in that latter category, and thus you are angry, downcast and without hope. I’m sorry you feel that way, but the truth is, many of us have spent eight years now waiting for this January 20th when your husband will finally leave office. Not a moment too soon!

What Hope Is and Is Not

You see, hope doesn’t drag Catholic nuns who serve the poor to court to force them to pay for other women’s contraception against their religious beliefs. Hope doesn’t tell young girls it’s just too bad if they’re uncomfortable sharing the bathroom and locker room with boys. Hope doesn’t stoke the fires of antagonism toward law enforcement and fan the flames of racial division, and hope sure doesn’t go around slyly talking about the “freedom of worship” rather than the freedom of religion and expect no one to notice or object.

Most of all, hope does not promote and celebrate unrestricted abortion the way that you and your husband have. Hope does not pour obscene millions of dollars down the macabre hole that is Planned Parenthood and label everyone who objects as an “extremist.”

If you suspect that I’m now placing my hopes in Trump’s administration and presidency, then let me say, not quite. I am optimistic that Donald Trump will govern in a very different way than your husband (which is to say, I’m optimistic he will actually govern, rather than hand down mandates from on-high). I am optimistic that he will put good, qualified people in positions where needed course corrections can take place, and perhaps we can yet stop our nation from becoming a godless, tyrannical, socialist state. (Talk about hopeless!)

I am optimistic that our freedoms will be appropriately understood and protected once again. I’m optimistic that we can make real progress toward rebuilding a culture of Life again in America, and that we can begin to repair the family unit. I’m optimistic that our military can be restored to what it should be, and the absurd and dangerous social experimentation will cease. I’m optimistic that more and more people will come to their senses, find their courage, and reject the lunacy and depravity of the new sexual and gender revolution in America before generations of our children are unspeakably damaged by it.

I am enormously relieved, it’s true. At least we have a chance now.

But my hope? That is somewhere else entirely, placed in Someone else. My hope lies in the straw in Bethlehem. My hope hangs on the Cross at Calvary. My hope abides in an empty tomb.

Neither your husband, nor Donald Trump, nor any other politician or public figure can take away my hope. There is no mortal man or woman upon whom hope rises or falls. Our hope as a nation depends entirely on one thing only: whether or not we will turn back to God with humble hearts and hear Him and obey Him. If we do, then our hearts will never be without hope, whatever comes.

Cheer up, Michelle. The real Messiah still sits on His throne, and all is well.