I’m curious.

How would you define hope? Is it packaged in a $9.99 a month deal? Does it come in the form of hanging onto an “I love you” from a faraway lover? Is it something one might conjure up in his or her mind to be delineated as something utterly unattainable, simply a fantasy?

As millennials, we all have a deep need to “find ourselves.” At times, that means going to a college halfway across the country that offers a specific degree we want. Other times, we exhaust every manner of making ourselves happy—the best high, the most gorgeous guy or girl, achieving the most prestigious award—and come up short. For some reason, as far as I’ve noticed, there always seems to be a lack, a lingering loneliness at the end of the day, an endlessly vigorous void.

At times, this deep chasm that is seemingly bottomless overwhelms us. We feel fearful. It’s dark here… alone with our thoughts. We feel worthless...no one wants to reach out to see how I’m actually doing. We feel hopeless… out of breath, inconsistent, always grasping for something more, but only scratching the surface of a way out of the prison of our hearts and minds.

What if there was a way? How much would you give to know how to bridge the gap between your current state and hope—forever?

After a rough transition to college nearly four years ago as an incoming freshman, I stood at a crux much like the one described above. I had come from a “perfect” background. I had the outstanding grades, I had the strong faith foundation, I had the good-natured and happy attitude. Apparently, I had it all.

However, everything I had, fell to pieces when I entered this new life stage. I came to college and began to live a double life. I’d act one way in front of a certain group of friends, and a completely different way in front of other friends. I was chasing, chasing, chasing anything that I felt could in some way satisfy me. I ran after alcohol as a way to numb my feelings of being unwanted. I was drawn to the idea of being affirmed and approved so badly that I allowed myself to enter into unhealthy relationships, and gave up a lot of what I was told would be good to save for a “future husband” one day. I was mean-spirited, self-centered, and I pushed away the ones that truly cared about me to embrace fake relationships with others that just wanted whatever it was I could give them at the time. I was exhausted. I was empty. I was so alone. I did not have it all—in fact, it felt as though I had nothing.

Lucky for me, around this time in my life, where I felt separated from anything and everything associated with the word hope, someone shared some magnificent news with me. I have no idea where you are, the one reading this, but I feel like I’d fail you as a writer, as a friend, if I did not pass along this wonderful message that altered the trajectory of my life.

In the midst of my brokenness, I was told some really imperative truths. Things that would impress themselves upon my limp and worn heart for years to come.

I was told that there is someone who loves me with no strings attached, unconditionally, you could say. This person knows me and has a beautiful and articulate plan and purpose for my life.

But there was a problem, a sort of thing that kept me from being able to know and experience this person’s love. You guessed it: my own sick heart. I had a sort of disease, a sin, a missing of the mark that kept me forever at arms length with the one who loved me. Hopeless. There was nothing of my own strength I could do to connect with this person.

It didn’t end there, though. My favorite part is this next portion of the story I heard. It continued with explaining that this person, in a desire to salvage me from my condition, and develop a rescue plan, stepped into my brokenness. This person left the perfect and amazing home they’d lived at, and trudged around in my mess, feeling what I feel, experiencing my loneliness, being tempted but not actually messing up, and loving me beyond anything I could compare them to. This person was God incarnate, God the Son, Jesus Christ. He stood in that monstrous gap for me, died and paid the wages of my brokenness so that I could have LIFE. And he didn’t just die, but he came back to life, so we could have life and love together. It baffled my mind. He traded my filth for his beauty and spotlessness. His offer was one that would leave me blameless and without stain. His outstretched hand was the greatest symbol of hope embodied I could ever experience.

The last part of this simple message seemed simultaneously difficult and desirous to me. I was told that all I had to do was believe that Jesus had died for my brokenness, that he had bridged the gap between a helpless me and a holy God. All I had to do was surrender control of my life to him.

I was in over my head.

There is a God who knows me, desires me, and loves me so much. He thinks of me, he saves and rescues from hopelessness. He came to this earth in flesh, and went to great lengths to express this love and salvation to me. He was tapping me on the shoulder, saying, “Hannah, I adore you, will you follow me?”

As I sat there after hearing this, a wave of joy washed over me. My search for affirmation, approval and acceptance had ceased. In that moment, after all that I had muttered was a “yes” in response to this message, hope crashed in. I knew that this, this was what I had desired to fill that once endlessly vigorous void. This was the key to unlock me from the prison of my mind.

This message intrigued me. It was the first where I saw that I couldn’t be good enough on my own. My grades, my attitude, my choices wouldn’t be able to measure up and save me. It showed me I needed to depend on someone; I needed to trust someone. I decided I didn’t want to run anywhere else but to the arms of Jesus. All other avenues led to jaded happiness, but this joy I had in my Savior lasted—it felt eternal. This, my friend, is indeed good news. It is the true essence of hope.