Hope

It bothers me. There's exactly no good reason for it. No evidence to announce its relevance, no theory to test against, and no proof to equate its logical preeminence has been found. Yet hope stirs in my heart even as I sing sad songs of love lost.
I hope. The bills stack; the hours grow dark; the pills get larger. I hope. The dates don't come; the flowers never arrive; and I have yet to see the light in his eyes. But I hope. The pace quickens; the kitchen fires grow hotter; and the feasting season draws near. Still I hope.
I hope that God will be doubly good to me. I hope there is a you. I hope to come home to you one day. I hope for little feet scampering across the floor being much too loud while we try to slip a few more winks in. I hope we all travel together, a small gypsy family. And I hope all this hoping isn't in vain.
But even if you're not real, even if it's all been just an exercise of my imagination, God's still been good to me. I can hope to know Him each day and find Him here with me. He's the one sure thing I know.
I hope one day to be free of all these things that trouble me. I hope to be able to be with people without being triggered. I hope to have more good days then bad, to make a difference in this world. And I hope I can convince myself on my horrible, awful, no good days that hope does not disappoint.
I place my hopes in the hands of the One who has my name written on His, and I refuse to rescue them from His grip. For I know what He is doing here is beyond my hopes and fears. He is writing a love song, singing it through me.
May your soul sing with Hope tonight.