Hope, writes Emily Dickinson, is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all. (from Poems of Inspiration and Comfort)
Each of us could define how we perceive hope. Few, I suspect, would look at it the way Emily Dickinson does. But I do like the image. Hope as light as a bird, flitting about in the breeze, singing endlessly a song without words as though it had not a care in the world. It makes hope a light that gives life meaning and fills it with joy. And regardless of your faith or lack of it, life is impossible without some form of hope.
And yet, who of us have not felt like the psalmist who cries out, "But you, O Lord...how long?" (Psalm 6:3).
Hope isn't a naive trust that God will only do good to us, or that he will prevent anything bad from affecting us. Hope actually is the ability to question our God, to ask for reasons why, to complain and even demand answers when we feel betrayed or let down or suffer. Because hope knows that God is big enough to understand our frustration, and he wants us to ask, even in annoyance or anger. He stands ready to give us an answer. Maybe not in our time frame, but in good time. And that is hope. Not endless optimism, expecting that if we believe, our life will be without difficulty. Hope is rather that ability to stand strong, come what may, and know that our God is there for us. In that, I would image hope more like the rock jutting out of the shoreline, withstanding the crash of waves, whether it be gentle tides or raging storms.
And therefore I would re-write Dickinson's poem to go thus: Hope is that rock buried deep within the soul, that bears our cries and mourning's loud, and never fails to hold.
Do you think she will mind?
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