Is there light to be found in a world gone so dark?
Is there hope that can lift our hearts higher?
Is there joy in the midst of the tears and the pain?
Do we dare look for what we desire?
Is there peace in the middle of chaos and strife?
Is there life that can overcome death?
Is there love yet to find in a world full of hate?
Is there anything good that is left? ...continue reading
Tag Archives: hope
Dead. But Not for Long.
A barren hill, scraped by a listless wind, bald and white against the black sky.
A rabid crowd, garbed in grey, shouting for death but not yet knowing that for One death brings life.
A rough-hewn cross, etched in blood.
A Man.
But I cannot look at the Man, cannot bear to see that skin blackened with blood, that body so tortured by countless stripes and merciless beatings.
So I wander through the crowd, and I search their eyes for any relief from the dread that is overpowering on this day, but I do not find it.
I see the children, with their huge, solemn eyes, and the echo of their late hosannas cracks like thunder through my mind. Their voices are stilled now. There is no joy left in their faces. I see only fear. Fear, and a numbing knowing. ...continue reading
When Hope Seems Futile
Hope. A longing for and a looking toward something beyond every obstacle there may be against it. A light in the face of darkness. A relentless necessity without which despair would settle in irrevocably.
We need hope. There is nothing to live for without it. Good days would be only that, if even that, and bad days would be so black we might never overcome them without hope to help us find the light again.
Hope gives us a reason to press on. It whispers of change, of better tomorrows. It fuels the strength that lifts weary feet again and again, even through much pain and difficulty. Hope is beautiful, even when it beats helplessly against its obstacle as a bird against the glass. Hope is strong, even when its wings are shredded and night falls before it. Hope is enduring. It is relentless.
Always it is beckoning us forward. ...continue reading
Musings in a Graveyard
Perhaps it's disrespectful to be sitting out here eating Jelly Bellies and contemplating life on Mary Ann McTimmond's grave. If it is, and if she would have minded in a former life, I know she doesn't mind now. She, and likely those she influenced, has been dead and buried longer than I or my parents or my grandparents have been alive.
In a sense, she doesn't matter anymore. All she's left behind her, to me who never knew her, is a mossy, faded gravestone and a story that ended too soon. She was only twenty seven when she died. Four years older than me.
I wonder if she knew she was going to die, if it was some kind of long illness that took her. I wonder if she feared death. Or perhaps she looked forward to seeing again her infant son whom she'd held and loved for only a day before he was taken from her. She was twenty five then. Two years older than me. Too young to lose a child. ...continue reading
