We went to the pumpkin patch last weekend. And as they do most days, my hands felt so full. Full of sippy cups, full of wipes and full of little hands dragging me along. But they also felt vaguely empty. Because by this time of year, I expected I would have something else to hold […]
“That is how it goes with hope. It is not tidy, staying in its own little corner.
No, it shows up and weaves itself around all of the things that already exist, with no clear distinction between what is only longed for and what is actually to come.
And no matter our knowledge of how delicate and fragile it is, or how quickly the stalk appears to grow frail and wither before us, it is impossible to extract its roots –even as we see it become threatened and damaged beyond repair.
That’s it. That’s all it takes. Just that tiny seed of hope, and she is created.
I used to think it took more than that. Maybe a certain week of pregnancy reached or the eventual child she holds that marked her creation.
But it’s not.
It is just hope. It is just that rooted dream that never leaves her heart.”