When it comes to hope, I'd prefer if someone would hand me a metaphorical bouquet of hope-in-full-bloom, something I can point to and easily say, “There’s the beauty. There’s the color. There’s the life.” Like a bunch of hope-filled balloons, I want to grab hold and immediately float above the struggle, the disappointment, the heartache, the fear. I want hope in an instant, hope on-demand.
And yet, if you’re like me, our experience of hope isn’t always that easy or care-free. Hope doesn’t always make a bright, grand entrance; hope often starts small, sneaks in the side door and, rather than flipping a switch to turn on the light, it quietly keeps us company in the dark.
And maybe that's a good thing. Because maybe that's exactly where hope is cultivated, where hope takes root, where hope begins to grow. Listen in.
Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor