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Full of Hope



The problem with being a person of faith is that you have hope. And when your hope is met with unfulfilled expectation, when what you are believing for fades in front of your eyes...the hope is replaced with grief. A deep sense of sorrowful surprise because you truly believed in the impossible. But then something miraculous does happen. After a time the hope returns, spurred on by the tiny seed of faith left over from the dying, withered dream. And you dream again...and again. And again.

Each time you think, "This is it. I can't possibly survive this pain." And you do. You not only survive, but you endure like the old oak trees with deep roots in the fertile soil. Everything changes around them, but they stand firm and immovable. And each year they feel a wearing away, an exhaustion. If they had a mind, it would be clouded. If they had a soul, it would lay dormant. They grow cold and barren. Then, like a miracle, a warmth envelops their body, their arms, their fingertips. And they are clothed once again with tiny buds of green, and they drop their seeds with expectant hope that their offspring would also one day endure just as they have.

They hope for new life, new beginnings. I can't help but hope and feel joy and inexplicable sorrow. It weighs on my heart like a blanket of wintery snow, waiting for the warmth of spring. Hoping that one day we will find a new beginning.

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