Hope.
We can’t buy it or sell it, hold it in our hand,
Or describe it in any tangible terms.
Yet we can’t live without it,
At least not in a world as broken as ours.
God-given hope is confidently expecting,
Joyfully awaiting what is sure to come.
Like the sun rising with perfect timing,
You can plan your life around its certainty
And encourage the same, from experience, with authority.
Hope cannot be held, but it can be heard,
Seen in a sincere smile, perceived with a discerning spirit,
And felt through a moving story.
Because real hope is in our bones as much as in our soul and spirit,
Rooted and anchored in a truth discovered
Through tears, trials, and triumphs.
Past, present, future.
Hope is alive, and it hungers and thirsts like us
Do you keep it in a dark room and never speak its name, afraid of what it costs?
Do you parade it around and provide the endless pleasure of sweets and accolades while its inner strength slowly fades?
Or do you hold it close as a friend, a confidante,
Telling you of things you dare not dream, yet somehow you trust,
With tenderness and love?