On Hope
I’m noticing lately just how much of my vocabulary lately has been replaced with hope. In this time of prolonged uncertainty, hope is showing up a lot more than it used to in my thoughts and language.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm…-Emily Dickinson, “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers - (314)”
They’re funny little things, hopes. Insubstantial as air and yet as real and keenly felt upon the soul as wind is on the body. The Bible describes faith as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Though hope is not seen, it is deeply felt. It carries a deep desire, a longing, a cherished wish for an envisioned reality.
There are so many things that I can’t know right now. In a very real sense, I never was able to “know” them, but there is a lack of confidence in my voice when I speak about the future now, a new hesitation that I never used to carry. And so I have replaced those former certainties with hopes. I hope for a day when I can travel again. I hope for a day when I can spend long days outside again, unconcerned with how many other people are out, whether I have a clean mask available, or whether my health will be at risk while I am. I don’t know what the world will look like when we emerge on the other side of this, but I hope there are some elements left that I recognize.
And there are some elements from this time of isolation and distancing that I hope will keep. I hope that I retain an awareness of the vital importance of in-person connection time with my family and friends. I hope that I never take for granted a day of liberty out in the world, free to come and go wherever I want as I please. I hope that I always take a moment when making plans to remember that nothing is certain, nothing is guaranteed, and therefore none of life’s beautiful moments are to be taken for granted.
This season has given me a renewed sense of the importance of holding on to hope. In spite of the gloom, I’m hearing and seeing hope everywhere. Summer is my favorite season of the year; that hasn’t changed even though almost everything else in my life has. Nature is still moving according to its rhythms; flowers burst forth from the ground triumphant.
I find peace in the fact that hopes, over time, turn into faith. Sustaining belief in a future that can become possible develops my muscle of trusting in what I cannot see, the very foundation of a life of faith. With that in mind, I won’t be letting go of hope.