Bearing hope

Most nights, for the last few months, at 7pm—the time we once banged pots and pans in appreciation of healthcare workers during COVID—I stand on my front porch and play “We Shall Overcome” on my French horn for the neighborhood to hear.

 

I do it to remind me about hope.

 

Because I know that—no matter how scared I get—we’ve been through this before.

 

Because I know that—no matter how scared I get—we will get through.

 

Because I know that—no matter how scared I get—there is a path forward.

 

Although I wasn’t alive the last time this song was so popular, I know I am joined by those who came before me and deep in my heart, I do believe, we shall overcome someday.

 

 

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The absence of hope (faith, trust, belief) is harmful to the soul.

 

As Viktor Frankl wrote about many in the concentration camps: “They died less from lack of food or medicine than from lack of hope, lack of something to live for.”

 

As Emily Dickenson penned in the 1800s,

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops—at all.

 

This is true—hope flits like a bird—AND another image of hope is also true: hope has grit.

 

Posted at 11:21am on March 10, 2022 on Twitter by Matthew@CrowsFault:

People speak of hope as if it is this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whispers and spider’s webs. It’s not. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go.

 

I am that woman, dirt on my face, blood on my knuckles, grit of cobblestones in my fair. I refuse—REFUSE—to give up.

 

 

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In the past month I have been knocked down, bruised, and broken. I’ve written about how shaken I’ve been. (And, I know, for some of you it’s been uncomfortable to witness my distress—I am sorry for that, appreciate your support, and promise that I will continue to be honest about how I am, no matter how ‘un’-pretty.)

 

There are times that I’ve been proverbially unconscious on the ground—forgetting about hope all together.

But, I get back up.

I’ve gotten my bearings.

Bloodied but unbowed, ready for whatever comes next.

 

 

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HOPE = PARA

I heard an interview with Dr. Randy Ross in which he explained the four components of hope. I made an acronym of his work, to make it easier for me to remember—PARA.

Hope has a POSITIVE hoped-for future.

Hope is AGILE—adapting to changing circumstances.

Hope is grounded in REALITY—having hope that pigs will fly isn’t realistic.

Hope requires an ACTION—hope is not just a thought but something that needs to be acted upon.

 

NOTE: the action can just be as simple as the self-care of listening to live music.

 

 

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Larry says, “I would rather live with hope and be wrong on occasion than not have hope and always be right.”

 

Hope is being willing to act towards bettering this world even when it doesn’t look like it will succeed.

 

Vaclav Havel wrote:

The kind of hope I often think about (especially in situations that are particularly hopeless, such as prison) I understand above all as a state of mind, not a state of the world. Either we have hope within us or we don’t; it’s a dimension of the soul; it’s not essentially dependent on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation. Hope is not prognostication. It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart; it transcends the world that is immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously headed for early success, but, rather, an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed.

 

 

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Not knowing that the next day would be his last, Martin Luther King, Jr., told an overflowing crowd in Memphis, Tennessee:

We’ve got some difficult days ahead…but it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop … I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land.

 

Hope is the lofty aspiration of bettering the world. Nonetheless.

 

That is why I play my horn on the porch.

 

We shall overcome.

We shall overcome.

Deep in my heart, I do believe.

We shall overcome someday.