I have heard hope springs.
I have heard it blossoms.
I have also heard in the darkest of times it can die.
I look down into these pots that are just starting, roots finding their way down, blooms looking for light and love.
Hope requires roots.
It requires us to remember the lessons from Sunday School and the prayers in silence.
It requires us to look past the ever-changing unpredictable dance of circumstance to the constancy of something far bigger and more steady.
It peaks its promise in our heart that the stuff out of our control and comprehension is held by Him.
It does not require our supervision but our submission.
In tendering to Him, our white knuckled grasp gives way to the grace that is Him alone.