Sometimes I find myself in a desperate kind of wrestle to have hope.
I’m hoping for certain things to happen in my life. Certain success, certain acceptance, certain love. But they are slow in coming, and I begin to fear they will never come at all. Questions of what I can do better, regrets that things aren’t different and nagging thoughts that I just don’t have what it takes to do this flood my mind and sink my spirits.
My logical response, of course, is to wrap my arms tightly around my hopes. To bring them in nice and snug.
Next thing I know, my legs have come to the aid of my arms, and now I am fully committed to this bear hug of hope.
So here we all are. Me. My hopes. My dreams. Stuck together like glue.
Tangled up so bad none of us are going anywhere.
And that’s just it. None of us are going anywhere.
I’m too busy clinging and clutching that I don’t realize I’m squeezing the life right out of them. And they are so smothered that they have no room to grow or to take flight.
To brighten or evolve and have hope.
Hope can be a beautiful thing. But when mixed with fear, hope has the potential to twist into something ugly. It can become obsessive and possessive and controlling.
Everyone always says, “Don’t lose hope.” But what I desperately need alongside of hope, and what I cannot afford to lose, is trust.