It's an action word.
I tend to get contemplative when I am pumping milk. Why? Not real sure, but last night I was stuck on hope, deep thoughts triggered by a jar of moisturizer.
It was rather late, Sherlock was over, I was putting labels on bottles of just pumped milk and looking at the stack of mail that was sitting on my desk. The flyer for Ulta twinkled at me. Not even two months ago, the arrival of that little flyer would've sent a little flutter into my heart, and I would've skimmed through the pages of sparkling polish and other beauty accoutrements, mentally listing the items that would go onto my wish list and those that would fill a basket of delights on some afternoon that I stole a little time to myself. It is a regular ritual that brings me pleasure.
As I type that memory into print, part of my mind says, wow, that's amazingly shallow, but another part of my mind says, that's one of the pleasures of being a woman -- enjoy it. Like most things, I bet that the truth is somewhere in between. I decided on a couple of new colors from the latest OPI line, to sample a new moisturizer and to see if they have the new Stella balm glosses in a bright berry.
Vanity satisfied, my mind ran back to hope.
We use it so often.
"I hope the weather makes up its mind."
"I hope you have a good day."
"Hope things get better."
"Hope we get all this covered."
"I hope this line gets moving before I turn 80."
"Hope they have coconut cake in the cafeteria tonight."
And more often than not, it's used in vain, in passing, with varying degrees of value and levels of wonder, as space fillers, rhetorical questions and silence breakers.
But in reality, it's an action word.
It's the place where desire meets expectancy -- the point where faith is nurtured and believe is seeded.
Sometimes confused with want or need, hope is different. It holds life-affirming, dream-inducing promise, an almost innocence --- if not purity of thought -- when we really mean it. It inspires you to take steps in one direction or another, to lift up your voice and pray, hug a passing stranger, to smile as the morning sun starts a new day or to kneel and cry those silent tears that speak all the words your lips cannot form.
It's a promise to believe.
A promise to keep going as if what I've hoped for has already happened... and try to keep dancing along until it does.
Maybe that's not hope at all, but faith instead.
As for me, I think I'll rest in hope and faith a bit more and in the other states a bit less.
What do you hope for? Please share your thoughts below.