"Hope is an interesting thing," said an inmate who claims he was wrongfully accused of murder. He had spent most of his adult life locked up for something he says he did not do, and had received word that his exoneration might be imminent. His words burned into my soul, arresting my attention the way a rare sighting, like that of the albino doe I keep seeing off of Arno-Allisona Road near the Rutherford County, Tennessee line, does. I was watching one of those true-crime mystery shows like Dateline or 20/20, can't remember which one. Doesn't matter. It was a chilling parallel to me of the very words I penned in this blog when describing what it felt like to think I had probably miscarried while enduring a twenty-four-hour wait for the confirmation of that sad fact. I tried so hard to tamp down all of my hope for a baby. It was to no avail. It just kept springing up somewhere else in my heart until the doctor gave us the final word. I never once looked at that ultrasound screen. I never did.
The point here is that hope is like a living being. It's a wild thing. As long as there is life in a human body, it is never quite fully dead. At least not in my experience. For every spring morning, like today when I went for a sunrise drive and saw so many deer, including the white doe whose lovely grace feels like a shower of joy on my head, there seems to be a new flow of hope. No matter how many missteps I take, the grace of God continues to rush like a river under my raft, gently but powerfully guiding me toward heaven, my true home. Wow did I repent this morning as the glory of God's creation washed over me on my little coffee-sipping tour of the Williamson County countryside. Just keep cleaning me up, Lord! Just keep working in me. I am good with that, so long as you never give up on me.
One thing that God keeps doing in my life lately that fills me with hope, that wild thing that energizes us all, is to float down what I call "postcards from heaven." On the latch hook board a few weeks ago, there was a light-hearted discussion of a certain kind of latch hook tool. Well, I wanted one just so I could be "in the gang." I did a quick internet search for a pink one. Never could find one in the style I was partial to. Seems a blue or even green one would be easy to come by. Pink, not so much, though I had been told they were out there. Next thing I know, I recieve a kit I had ordered from ebay. Totally forgot there was to be a tool included. Now, when the seller opened the box to put that pink Boye comfort grip tool on top, do you think he or she knew I had searched for one? No. Someone else did, though. It was like my heavenly Father was patting my head, telling me that what matters to me matters to Him. Keeps me going.
The point here is that hope is like a living being. It's a wild thing. As long as there is life in a human body, it is never quite fully dead. At least not in my experience. For every spring morning, like today when I went for a sunrise drive and saw so many deer, including the white doe whose lovely grace feels like a shower of joy on my head, there seems to be a new flow of hope. No matter how many missteps I take, the grace of God continues to rush like a river under my raft, gently but powerfully guiding me toward heaven, my true home. Wow did I repent this morning as the glory of God's creation washed over me on my little coffee-sipping tour of the Williamson County countryside. Just keep cleaning me up, Lord! Just keep working in me. I am good with that, so long as you never give up on me.
One thing that God keeps doing in my life lately that fills me with hope, that wild thing that energizes us all, is to float down what I call "postcards from heaven." On the latch hook board a few weeks ago, there was a light-hearted discussion of a certain kind of latch hook tool. Well, I wanted one just so I could be "in the gang." I did a quick internet search for a pink one. Never could find one in the style I was partial to. Seems a blue or even green one would be easy to come by. Pink, not so much, though I had been told they were out there. Next thing I know, I recieve a kit I had ordered from ebay. Totally forgot there was to be a tool included. Now, when the seller opened the box to put that pink Boye comfort grip tool on top, do you think he or she knew I had searched for one? No. Someone else did, though. It was like my heavenly Father was patting my head, telling me that what matters to me matters to Him. Keeps me going.
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