(Today I am linking up with Five-Minute Friday. This week’s word: Hope.)
You may not know this.
Or you may have forgotten.
That: hope doesn’t mean rainbows and butterflies and sunshine and blue skies.
It doesn’t mean laughter and stillness and smiles and energy.
It can. But it doesn’t always.
Hope exists when you imagine those things. Hope is present when, despite the swirling tornado of grief, the burning flames of trauma, the ankle weights of despair, you remember that butterflies exist. When you dream of stillness. When you imagine that one day, the skies will be blue again, even for a breath.
Hope isn’t perfect. It’s not an idealistic Disneyworld where nothing is wrong and smiles, cotton candy, laughter, and fun are present at all times.
No.
Hope is real. As real as sadness, as fear, as panic.
You can feel two feelings at once.
Hope exists when we remember this. And we believe that they exist. And we hold onto them like a life vest, an anchor, and we think, yes. There is a reason that I am breathing through my storm, breathing through these feelings, breathing through the thick air. Because I can imagine. I might have forgotten what it’s like. But I can imagine a moment where a butterfly flies by. Where my body relaxes. Where the sun comes out. Where I might smile. Yes. I keep breathing through it because I believe.
Hope is belief. Hope is imagination. Hope is real.