Posts Tagged ‘Hope’
The peonies float on the afternoon light
as if they were boats on a deep green sea, their scent
rising like prayers from their luminous centers.
As May’s final days come to a close, she offers these
gifts as her farewell, placing them with love
on the altars of our hearts that we may carry
her blessings and her joy in our memories
until she makes her return. For always,
she will bring renewal; always, she will usher in rebirth.
And so she sings, “Be merry, my children.
Let hope be your guide. For always,
you are cherished. Always, you are loved.”
The budding trees dance their welcome to the Springtime.
You never know when it will be the last one. Anything
can happen, and for all its brilliance and potential, mankind
has once more pushed this spinning globe right to the brink.
Nevertheless, today the sky is blue and sap is rising,
and robins dart in little flocks above the fields. It’s true,
what the poet said about hope. It springs eternal. So
let us dance and may the life within us swell in gladness.
Why are we here at all, if not to give thanks?
At last! Sunshine!
It’s not that we doubted it would come.
It’s just that we were taken up
with the sheer holding on
through what seemed an endless gray.
And now, here it was at last,
painting long blue shadows
and glittering the snow,
its afternoon rays tinting the trees red,
coloring our hearts with fresh hope,
turning out thoughts toward spring.
All day the winds roared, pummeling the trees, ripping limbs, downing branches, hurling everything it could catch across the fields, the lawns and roadways. Clouds that dwarfed mountains rushed across the sky like speeding freight trains, late to deliver rivers of rain.
All who could take shelter did, man and birds and beasts alike. Whispers of “Danger!” flew through the air.
But then, as if the Yes itself sought to remind, a radiance of hope arched across the sky and all who saw it forgot their fear and were filled with awe at its beauty. And the clouds gave way to the sun, and the winds became a healing breeze in answer to their trust.
The Yes sends its blessings in shafts of light that fall, ever so silently, on the heart’s soft ground.
Walk softly, my child, and feel your heart respond. Feel it rising in hope and renewal. Feel it leaping with joy.
Even when you walk through thick forests of doubt, the light will find you. It knows your name; it gave birth to your soul.
Walk in peace, my child. You are known, and seen, and loved.
It’s more than just the darkness of the sky, the low, threatening clouds. You can smell it above the day’s heat. You can feel it on your skin. The birds have stopped singing. Except for the occasional flicker of a firefly, nothing moves.
The horizon is streaked with color. But half an hour ago, you were looking at clear sky. Now, you can hardly see the road beneath your feet. This storm is moving in fast. Those colors on the horizon are the last you’ll see today. You hold onto them like ribbons of hope, sent from the sun before it disappears.
To the south, a streak of lightning splits the air, waking the trees, setting them dancing in a suddenness of wind. And moving across the field, you hear the pelting rain as it moves across the field and you step inside your door, safe, and chilled with wonder.
At the edge of the woods, the joy flowers bloom. Keep walking.
At the far edge of night, the light dawns. Hold on to your hope.
You never what waits around the bend. Expect miracles, expect solutions. Go, as a friend of mine says, for the tiny, magnificent triumphs that come when you keep on keeping on.
Six months ago, we were watching the year fade away. It skated through a quickly darkened sky past bare trees and frozen, snow covered ground. Four months ago, we wondered if winter would ever end.
Ninety days ago, we caught the first edges of the Promise. A final snowstorm swept through, but the ice on the creeks had thawed. We held on to the hope of their song.
Now, look. The world is lush and bathed in emerald light. You can hardly walk through the forest, so dense is the undergrowth there. You wonder how settlers ever crossed through Penn’s sylvan woods.
Fox play here, and coyotes and rabbits. Squirrels chatter from the trees, and birdsong is everywhere.
The next time you find yourself walking over a patch of barren land, trust in Time. Remember what ninety days can do.
I didn’t recognize his insignia, the bright gold lines across his wings. But I knew at once that he was heaven sent, a messenger bearing a reminder that all is well.
Despite the turmoil in the world, the Yes supports the fragile things: The delicate breathings of hope, the spirit’s longing for freedom, the heart’s relentless trust in goodness and in truth.
Your highest dreams are safe and sing themselves in the heart of the Yes, where they can never die.
Believe in morning. Angels are everywhere.