It’s fairly easy to be down these days. We wake up to news of the coronavirus and wonder if that’s going to get us, or perhaps it’ll be another mass shooting. We might also be trying to raise a family and keep our proverbial chin up, despite not knowing where the cap of the toothpaste wandered off to or whether we’ll have tonight’s soccer game with rain in the forecast. Somehow, despite of all of this, we’re looking for hope. We want to trust tomorrow will be better. Easier. Lighter.
I’d love to say there’s a quick fix for this. For most of us, however, instantaneous enlightenment is something we imagine happens only at million-dollar yoga retreats for other people. I’ve never personally mastered the warrior pose while overlooking the sunset with amplified serenity.
Still, many of us are looking for hope. Normal people like you and me. Some of us find it through God. Some look elsewhere.
I’d like to suggest that hope is all around us, not exclusive to the sunset poses.
Hope comes in the form of the guy who owns the local bike repair shop who hears about
my friend’s stolen bike. He decides to gift a new (used) bike to her. He asks nothing in return; in fact, he looks down and mutters, “Don’t mention it. I’m glad to do it.”
Hope comes in the form of the woman who answers the phone when I want to place my take-out order. She
calls me “honey” and “sweetheart” and “darling” in a way that seems not at all inappropriate; she sounds just like my Grandma did back when I could call her on the phone. There’s a familiar love there in this stranger’s voice.
Hope comes in the form of my child, who’s sometimes averse to initiating physical affection, but surprises me with a two-arm hug around my waist while I’m putting away the dishes. She holds on as if she’s been wanting to do it for a long time; she melts into it. I melt into her.
You see, I’ve experienced all of these things this week. In real life. They all count for something, don’t they?
Perhaps when we’re looking for hope, we need to look differently. As it turns out, in a million tiny ways, hope is all around us. And maybe, just maybe, we’re called to be part of someone else’s hope, too.
Sarah R. Moore is an internationally published writer and the founder of Dandelion Seeds Positive Parenting. You can follow her on Facebook, Pinterest, and Instagram. She’s currently worldschooling her family. Her glass is half full.