"There is not a pretty red ribbon around it, but there's hope."
- Louie Giglio
Hope. It is an interesting thing, isn't it? It doesn't matter what the facts are. How dire. How definitive. How final. There is something in the human heart that refuses to believe. Demands a hold onto that little bit of...hope. Only when faced with an end will the heart finally relinquish its hold on the possibility of a miracle. And, even then, we begin to hope for something else. Something beyond the current circumstance.
There is a hydrangea outside my bedroom window. The summer rains came this year and over-watered the bush, leaving all the flowers dry and brittle. This surprised me; isn't rain supposed to add life and color to a plant? Instead, this plant held dead, lifeless blooms until about a month ago. One morning, I noticed new, green growth. The hint of a bloom. It was already October. I guess no one told this plant that the cold was arriving any day. It didn't care; it saw an opportunity to blossom, and it took it. Every morning when I open my shade, I have watched that bloom grow until it has turned into a bright blue bunch of beautiful tiny leaves. In a season of death for our family, it reminds me that there is always new life. There is always hope. Hope may come in tiny bits, but it always creates something beautiful.
After a cold snap this weekend, I wondered what I would see when I looked out the window Saturday morning. The bloom was still there, and just below it, a new, green bloom, just starting out. There is always hope.