Bonfire yesterday: grilled chicken, pepper, mushrooms, japanese eggplant over a bonfire fueled by the wood of my old swingset. My mother joked that I was burning my childhood, watching it go up in flames. It could be it. But lately I've felt fresh and new, somewhat childlike, by the encouragement of those I love. This is a chance to thank each person in my life that has showed me what it is to be honest and open. To communicate instead of ignore. To get a bit messy, maybe yell or cry instead of letting a topic go. There is hope in those that seek to understand and seek to share.
My friends are people that ask how you are, and truly care. They modern dance. They tell embarrassing stories about pooping without toilet paper. They ride on the back of cars. They are hope.
I woke up this morning, and I was excited to go to work. There must be a pretty amazing God that set me up with this work. That is hope.
My mother and I went to
bible study tonight where we explored the first chapter of Isaiah. The whole room of the church was packed with women interested in reading the bible. Each and every woman was placed in a discussion group where they will have the opportunity to talk about their lives, and share where they see God in this world. They are hope.
Where have you seen hope in your day?
Last week I was feeling discouraged and defeated after translating for detainee's in court for MN Advocates for Human Rights. My good friend has been working so hard at providing opportunities for justice in a system that I think is occasionally mis-named. She's volunteering a year in a program called
Lutheran Volunteer Corps where she's committing to a year of sustainability, spirituality, and simplicity. I was overwhelmed by all the issues that exist in our country which require attention from lawyers and judges, yet thankful that programs such as the MN Detention Project offered by
The Advocates for Human Rights exists. I was also concerned about the issues that exist in foreign countries which result in visitors to this country to even leave their home and migrate. I lost sight of hope, and then there it was in an Oldsmobile car right next to me. A man whose skin was hung off his bones more than it clung. A man whose sunglasses were so large his nose fought to peek out. A man that had to be around for over 90 decades. That man was going somewhere. And he was driving. If he can get up in the morning and have something that he needs to do, something that motivates him to drive, I do too. He was hope.
And so many times in our lives it's difficult to find the hope. I find more often than not there's structures of desparity that strangle all signs of it. It's days like this that we must record and cherish and smile about. They may happen once a week. They may happen once a month, once a year, once every five. But they happen, and for these days we thank a God who created this big world in which we can live.
