Lately I have been struggling between the light and the dark, the glass half full and the glass half empty, the bright optimism of Piglet and the gray melancholy of Eeyore. I am grateful for each day, our home, my husband, food on the table, music in the background, and the wine poured. But...but...but... My world is full of buts. There’s hateful words, guns, isolationism, more guns, massive stupidity, more and more guns, intolerance, xenophobia, homophobia, all types of phobias, and even more guns.
I seem to be stuck in the quicksand. Every time I see beauty I also remember destruction. How can I get beyond this dense and claustrophobic fog?
I have no pat answers, no quotes, no cute memes. I only have my life: my one astounding, hard, brilliant, dark, creative, simple life.
I’ve never been the most religious person. I have doubts and questions that no mainline church or organized religion has been able to answer. What I do have is my own god. This god speaks to me in moments of sorrow and sings in times of joy. This god is in my quiet walks through the woods, the smell of baking pies, the laughter of grandchildren, the “I love you, Mom” at the end of a phone call, the perfect lines in great literature, the tears that flow uncontrollable, the first snow, the spring rains, when my favorite song comes on the radio, my wicked and wonderful friends, the twinkle of Christmas lights, the hope that swells in my heart even in the darkest of times.
Hope is the crux of it all. If there isn’t hope, there isn’t goodness. So on this rainy, gloomy, unseasonably warm December day, I am hanging onto hope because the alternative is unfathomable.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words-
And never stops-at-all-