I was talking to a friend of mine the other day about having hope. About those who are just naturally hopeful versus those who are not, about whether hope is something you have innately or not, about whether hope can be learned or not. And the conclusion we came to is this: there are those of us who have hope no matter what the circumstances, no matter what we are faced with; and others who simply do not.
I have friends who have lost children, who have lost husbands, who have lost parents. I have friends who are divorced, who have never been in love, who have never been inspired. I have friends who are searching for someone, seemingly without end. I have friends who have faced the loss of a job, the loss of money, the loss of love. And in facing these issues there are two sets of people who emerge: those who remain hopeful and those who cannot. Those who, despite feeling terrifically sad or devastated, still wake up each day with a glimmer, if even very small, of understanding that though this loss may be great, they still have to find a way to live the life that is in front of them and they still believe good things will come to pass.
But what about those who don't? What about those who can't? What about those for whom hope is a foreign language, can it be learned? Can it be passed along? I think hope is either something you have or something you don't, but I also think you can be hopeful for someone who can't. Like being a shoulder for them to lean on, being hopeful for them is something to give.
So that when they can't see the light, perhaps you can hold out hope that it exists. So that when they seem most lost, you can help guide them along the way. Because while hope may be something you have or you don't, hope is also something that can't be diminished. It is something that grows, without limit. It is something that strengthens the more you have it. It is something that increases the more you share it. Here's hoping.
This is the life.
-a
I have friends who have lost children, who have lost husbands, who have lost parents. I have friends who are divorced, who have never been in love, who have never been inspired. I have friends who are searching for someone, seemingly without end. I have friends who have faced the loss of a job, the loss of money, the loss of love. And in facing these issues there are two sets of people who emerge: those who remain hopeful and those who cannot. Those who, despite feeling terrifically sad or devastated, still wake up each day with a glimmer, if even very small, of understanding that though this loss may be great, they still have to find a way to live the life that is in front of them and they still believe good things will come to pass.
But what about those who don't? What about those who can't? What about those for whom hope is a foreign language, can it be learned? Can it be passed along? I think hope is either something you have or something you don't, but I also think you can be hopeful for someone who can't. Like being a shoulder for them to lean on, being hopeful for them is something to give.
So that when they can't see the light, perhaps you can hold out hope that it exists. So that when they seem most lost, you can help guide them along the way. Because while hope may be something you have or you don't, hope is also something that can't be diminished. It is something that grows, without limit. It is something that strengthens the more you have it. It is something that increases the more you share it. Here's hoping.
This is the life.
-a
Hello Allison. I believe hope is faith-in-action. Where would we be without hope? My goodness. It was be an even harder life, with little joy. Here's to hope! Susan
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