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Emily Dickinson was quite a smart lady

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
This week’s Blog Hop, hosted by Joanna at Raising Madison is about hope.  What gives you hope? Where do you find it when it seems all is lost?
People who know me would probably call me a pessimist.  People who REALLY know me know that I’m a realist.  Or I try to be.  I try to think logically and realistically about all situations and plan for the worst-case-scenario in all situations.  “Plan for the worst and hope for the best” is my motto.  It just makes sense to me.  (And with as logical as I can be, it’s kind of weird that I’m not better at math…anyways…)

Hope is something that is always there. It is perched in my soul.  It never stops.  No matter what.

Almost anyone who knows a little about poetry, literature, or quotes has heard the first stanza of Dickinson’s poem, but most people haven’t read the second and third. (And if you really want a trippy experience, read her poem to the tune of “The Yellow Rose of Texas”, or the theme song from Gilligan’s Island, or “Amazing Grace.”)  But the second and third are just as true as the first and speak to even more goodness than the first, in my opinion.
Hope is ALWAYS there.  In the middle of the storms, the worst-case-scenarios, hope is the little jingle in the background going “Everything is going to be okay.”  And it’s got to be a pretty bad storm to make the little bird give up hope of surviving.
Hope is everywhere (“the chillest land”, “the strangest sea”) and asks nothing of us in return.
Hope begets more hope.
In the midst of my battle over the past year-ish, there have always been glimmers of hope.  Always.
Hope is a much-needed nap, or a smile or a laugh from Joshua.  Or watching him discover something new. Or seeing his joy when we go check the mail.

Hope is my husband taking over and cooking dinner.  Or getting up at night with Joshua so I can sleep a bit.

Hope was my mom coming to visit when Joshua was a tiny babe.  Her presence was always calming.

Hope comes from friends calling to say “Hey! How are you? Want to grab lunch!?”

Hope comes from the wonderful ladies (and a couple of guys, too) I’ve met through blogging.  Those who rally behind me on my bad days.   I hope I’m able to return the favor should they ever need it.

Just when it seems like all is lost, HOPE swoops in and rescues me.  And those little glimmers of goodness give me the strength to keep going.

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