Last month on our annual family road trip down south, we were met with sporadic showers accompanied by a marvelous array of rainbows, showcasing prominently in the rain. Overwhelmed at the sight, my mother declared, "How can there be both rain and rainbows?" Her question prompted a laugh from all of us. "Mom," I said knowingly, "there can't be rainbows without rain." This was immediately followed by another laugh, and then we all sighed as we recognized the deeper significance of that statement. Indeed, in order for us to really grasp the true hope of our faith in God, trials must accompany our discovery (1 Pet 1:6-7). I will only know how good God is when I see how absolutely messed up things (myself) are.

We are often surprised when things get hard (1 Pet 4:12). And sometimes that rainbow isn't so immediately apparent. But we can look with anticipation to the full revelation of God's glory - making the rainbow a mere prelude.

The media has been abuzz with the decision of 29-year old Brittany Maynard to end her own life in a matter of weeks after a terminal diagnosis of late stage brain cancer. Her decision brings light to the Death with Dignity Act, which pushes to allow end of life decisions "to be made solely between a patient and a physician." What first compels us to Maynard is her young age, and her newlywed status. No young, vibrant woman with so much life ahead of her should have to die. This is grievous, and we mourn the unfairness of it all.

But what I mourn more is Maynard's decision to dictate death on her terms, with the belief that it allows her the dignity that her diagnosis has robbed her of. It is as if to say that we can atone the cruelty of death by choosing it rather than succumbing to it. But death has already been swallowed up in victory, and in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ we are assured that death does not have the final say. It is not my intent to trivialize Maynard's suffering, or the injustice of one so young coming to terms with the end of her life, but to say that our dignity has been secured by one who loved us to endure the indignity of the cross so that we may have life.

Before beginning a new semester of teaching a wave of helplessness washes over me as I look down the prospect of once again leading a group of students through an established set of course outcomes. It takes a certain amount of work and effort to get them all clued into a routine and marching to the same beat. And even after having done so, it's always true that I have noncompliants, and am never without a semester where someone hasn't neatly followed the order that I prescribe.

After the same rigamarole again and again, I realize that there's not much of anything new that I haven't seen before. A decade of teaching earns you this perspective.

There's a certain amount of futility that accompanies endless cycles of the same thing. Sometimes I'm running that hamster wheel so hard that I lose sight of any forward trajectory. Slowing down that wheel to take stock of an eternal perspective takes real effort. I'm somewhat in the middle of this and realizing that I need to make this more of a regular thing.

Science tells us there exists this phenomenon called the optimism bias that hardwires humans for hope despite a bleak reality. When presented with an outlook that say, 30% of people contract cancer, most of us would overstate the probability of us being a part of the statistic. The optimism is at times irrational, and surprisingly persistent. Science would also lead us to the conclusion that this bias is in fact, key to evolution and the survival of the human race. The Bible has a lot to say about hope. Throughout the Psalms we see David asserting hope as consolation in the midst of desperate situations (Psalm 42:5). It was hope that drove the faith of our forefathers (Romans 4:18). And it is the same hope that drives us in our present reality for Christ's return (Titus 2:13-14).

Science has a caveat to this optimism bias - depressed people have a greater inclination to see reality for what it is, and perhaps worse. Who amongst us has never had a negative thought? I myself have spent a large part of my life vacillating between hope and my own cynicism.

I believe that hope has everything to do with who you place your hope in. I am convinced that the bias towards optimism, while inherent in humanity, will send you spiraling when you come to the brutal realization that all your perceptions of self, humankind, and fate do not match even your rosy expectations. It matters, then, that for hope to have its most lasting effect, the security of our faith must be certain.