“Give me hope,” I say to the spring-bearing trees and the leaves that whisper small graces to passersby. I listen to them, because I don’t know who else to listen to. And I trust what they say, because I don’t have anything else to trust.
I hope that life will always be filled with a sense of wonder, the one piece that has lived in my heart for longer than I can remember. I close my eyes, thinking back to the small little girl who would run to chase life instead of running to get away. And I close them even tighter, praying that I can return to the light-hearted nature of those young years when I was fascinated by wandering fawns or a starlit sky.
I find this girl again when I am alone, when sweet solitude greets me with a warmth I have been searching for for what seems like far too long. It is the warmth that casts out fear and welcomes faith — the faith that seemed so distant when I needed it most.
And then I look again at that little girl who didn’t know how hard she would have to fight to discover it, to hold it close, to learn how to never let it go. My eyes dampen as a tear escapes for her seasons of sorrow, the things that consumed her to nowhere but the pale, mountainous regions of hope-covered beginnings—beginnings of freedom and joy and everlasting grace.
I guess I’d like to think that hope will always find me, especially in the forsaken places. For it is in these times when it all seems distant, like it is far out of my reach and was never meant to be mine to hold in the first place. It is in these times that I will search for it anywhere and everywhere — in the crevice of a falling leaf, gifting a sign for a new season ahead, or in the simplest and sweetest of coincidences that I trust were always meant to happen.
There are times when I doubt myself for questioning that hope will find me. And I wonder why this thought keeps coming back when my trust in the One who made me now rings ever-so-true in my heart.
But I guess trust is all it comes down to, and trust is something that has never come easy for me. Yet trusting the One who has never failed me feels different, almost as if this is always how I was meant to live.
I hope that I was always meant to hold onto this faith in each step I take. And I’d like to think that it is always there and never leaves me, especially during times when my grasp on hope seems loose.
So, I continue to hope and pray. And I know I shall remind myself of this truth each and every day.