By Jack Wyman

Eighty-eight percent.

It’s an extraordinary number.

Ten percent. That’s another extraordinary number.

None of this is easy. Hope is one of the grandest words in the English language. “No hope” are two of the saddest.

In a recent poll, 88% of those surveyed said this country is on the wrong track. That’s a jump of 9% since May—which was a new record then. Only 10% of those questioned believe America is headed in the right direction.

The malaise of pessimism and angst cuts across party lines. Republicans, Democrats, and Independents are all depressed about the present national condition. They may have different reasons but they are all in the dumps about the United States.

Economically, culturally, politically, and morally, these times are trying the souls of the American people. Our discontent and disunion deepen. People are discouraged, disgusted, disgruntled, and dismayed.

It’s hard for Christians not to get caught up in this mounting national dissatisfaction. It descends like a thick fog of desperation upon our land. Like every American, we see the signs of these turbulent and uncertain times. We wonder, we are concerned, we doubt. We are human too.

When I was a boy, I discovered that fishing is an exercise in hope. No matter how long we’d been out on the lake, no matter how long it had been since a fish nibbled on our line, no matter how low the sun was setting, my dad was determined to troll our boat around just one more bend.

I’d look over his shoulder to try and see how far ahead it was. Dad moved the boat slowly; the motor was barely running. It seemed to me an eternity. It was still. Nothing was happening. I was sure nothing would.

I’d ask him plaintively when we were going in. Soon, I was told, but not quite yet.

As I remember those golden days, and my encroaching weariness at sunset, I remember Dad telling me, “Keep your pole moving Jack. Don’t stop now. Don’t give up. You never know. We could catch a big one. They’re in here, you know.” I forced my young noodle arm to pull the fishing pole forward over the water—over and over again. It wasn’t easy but I did what Dad told me.

Then it happened.

My pole would suddenly bend over with a heavy weight and start moving furiously. My dad smiled and immediately cut the motor. “Reel it in Jack! Be careful! Reel slow! Don’t yank on it! We don’t want to lose him!”

Soon Dad was putting the net carefully under the biggest rainbow trout we’d caught that entire day. “There! See,” Dad would say, “aren’t you glad we didn’t quit?”

I was thrilled and proud—and ready to call it a day. “Now can we go in?”

“Yes, we’re done for today. Reel up! Great job, Jack! Congratulations! Wait until your mother sees that!” Dad would power up the old Mercury 40hp and we’d head for shore. By the time we cranked the boat to its perch on the trailer it was dark. We were the last fishermen to leave the boat launch.

That didn’t always happen. But it happened often enough to teach me lessons about perseverance, determination, steadfastness, and patience.

Fishing—and my dad—taught me the enduring value of hope. No matter the odds or conditions.

“Keep your pole moving.” In my dad’s book, it was the essence of trolling for trout or bass.

The Bible teaches us hope. Through it commands and exhortations—and through its recounting of the brave exploits of its historic characters—the scriptures pulsate with hope, joy and confidence.

And, in the end, victory.

We see Abraham with his only son on Mount Moriah, Moses at the Red Sea, Joshua assuming command, Gideon’s valiant 300, Joseph in prison, and Elijah out-numbered by the prophets of Baal on Carmel’s summit. We see Esther standing before the king on behalf of her people, David going out to face Goliath, Daniel in the lion’s den, and Paul struck down on the Damascus Road.

Most of us grew up learning of these heroes. We marveled at their courage and faith. They taught us that there is such a thing as hope. They taught us that there is protection, assurance, and deliverance.

Most of all, these men and women of the Bible taught us that there is a God and he is sovereign. No matter how despairing, discouraging, dark, or hopeless the times and circumstances of our lives may seem, our God is a mighty God and he still reigns.

God was omnipotent when Donald Trump was president. He’s omnipotent now that Joe Biden is in office. We’re tempted to look for hope in all the wrong places. And to blame everything and everyone but the devil and this fallen world for our problems. Politics is a mirage, leaders are fickle, money is fleeting, power is corrupting.

God alone is our hope; our redemption, our salvation, our protection—now and forever. Anything else is a misplaced hope, a sad delusion, and an empty promise.

Yes, there is much in this staggering world to make us afraid. There is much more in our faith to make us unafraid—and to give us hope and a future.

"This I know," the psalmist declares, "that God is for me" (Psalm 56:9).

God’s wisdom is our direction. His knowledge is our instruction. His power is our protection. His justice is our guarantee. His love is our comfort. His mercy is our solace. His immutability is our trust.

God rules over all principalities and powers. Nothing escapes his notice, thwarts his will, or eludes his purpose. Nothing can defeat him. Nothing can ever defeat those who have placed their trust in him.

When our days are done on this earth, and our eyes shall close in death,

God will take us gently in his loving arms and carry us to Jordan’s shore.

To a new heaven and a new earth, where righteousness dwells forever.

Until then, keep your pole moving.

To order Jack Wyman’s book, “Everything Else: Stories of Life, Faith and Our World”, go to amazon.com, Christian Book Distributors or barnesandnoble.com. It is also available on Kindle and eBooks.

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