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Most of us spend our lives searching for something. Anything. One thing.
Nervous, unsettled, given to some fashionable philosophy or the other like leaves in the wind.
I fancy myself a garden variety thinker, perhaps with the mental fortitude to understand myself in the grand context of the world and life and God. Perhaps not. I focus regularly on the concept of hope, for my belief system relies heavily on it. I thought I understood that hope meant looking to the future, leaving room for the possible, the potential in the things to come.
It is that.
But there’s more, I think.
If I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that hope is confined, not by the future or by time in general, but by nothing. It is boundless and accessible. My heart has been restless of late, for good reason. Surprisingly, however, I find myself at peace.
Hope in the present, that not only is my future secure, but the space and time that I currently occupy can be a better space and time.
Hope in the past, that good will turn to better, and bad will turn to lessons learned.
I once worked with a man would always answer the question “how are you?” by saying “better than yesterday.” What a peculiar response. When questioned as to why yesterday was so bad, he would say “it wasn’t, I just try to get a little bit better every day.”
Perhaps that’s as good a definition as any of the realization of hope.
And perhaps the search will never be fully satisfied.
And perhaps that’s okay.
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