{I’ve been tagged by my talented mama at cooking-spree.com, to write about hope. Messy, beautiful and nonsensical, striving and straining, living and learning hope.}

To hope is to watch three girls in a freezing cold wading pool in swim suits in September, walking ’round and ’round in a tight circle, believing they will make a whirlpool.

To hope is to see pieces of yourself scattered like shiny feathers, here and there and believe there is good in the scattering. That you don’t need to scoop them all up and make them into some pretty thing. That the pretty thing is being made as parts of you land on the sidewalk, on the hill, in the branch.

To hope is to believe in him. To believe in them. To trust that you are a seed planter, and they are growing. To trust that you are loving the best you can, and you will make mistakes and shout stupid things, and you will still be loved.

To hope is to believe that there is more than this. That, though this life filled with guts and gore and glory is something — really something — it is not all there is.

To hope is to hold out a hand and believe it will be met. To look into eyes unafraid. To smell a flower and believe the scent will meet your nose before the bee.

To hope is to press on.

To hope is to let go.

To hope is fresh starts and blessings.

To hope is to believe in the power of your hands, your words, your life and ours to make lovely, to bridge divides, to nourish, to help, to heal.

To hope is to believe in what you have without grasping it between your fingers.

To hope is to know you are more than what you see.

Your turn: What’s hope for you? In your experience, in your everyday reality, in your imaginings…what is it?

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