It’s 7 am and I am sitting snugly in our farmhouse kitchen. Although it looks dark outside, the birds are already wooing the dawn as it rises over the hill. Later, walking with the dogs on the morning alpaca rounds, evidence of hope is all around me. Of trust, that spring really is coming, despite the bleached trees of winter.
In our waiting, we can feel like nothing is happening. That hope is far away from here. But it’s not. It’s a gift to be received.
That’s the thing about hope, we can’t manufacture it or talk it into being. Or hurry it along. It’s a gift, we just have to open it, to cultivate our hearts for the seeds to be planted.
In waiting, I believe that we can have hope. Not always in circumstances, or timing, or people as they can all disappoint. But that the ultimate outcome can be good if we look for it.
That mercy triumphs over judgement; that love can overcome fear; that there is a plan and purpose for our lives.
Hope can light the darkest and coldest place if we look beyond ourselves.
Waiting isn’t bad. It’s probably the only place to receive the real gift of hope.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope
that if you just show up and try and do the right thing,
the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work:
you don’t give up.
Anne Lamott, from Bird by Bird: Some Instructions in Writing & Life