Thursday, May 2, 2013


I haven't been writing as much lately.
I struggle with my voice.  And that doesn't happen often.  I feel like I can't do justice trying to express this fine-feathered, often over and misused thing called hope.  I think of Kylie and JaninaF, my little trolls that has somehow found a space in my heart (I still really wanna buy them a coffee). Thoughts of them make me stop typing.  It isn't because I want their approval or I need to have "the last word."  It's because I feel so much sympathy for them that they are missing out.
Missing out on how much richer and fuller and more meaningful everything in life is when you have hope in something bigger than you.  When you find that hope that is unchanging, everlasting and unconditional.
I'm gonna continue to be honest here.  We've had to put on our boxing gloves for Etienne more than we'd like.  Old ugly stuff creeping back in.  I physically feel ill when he slips into the protective mode.  You know the one: the lying, manipulating, hurtful stuff that he does to to protect himself.  I can't stand that sometimes he still has a primal need to resist love.  Ugh.
But here's where hope comes in bigger and better.
There's been lots of lies this week.  Ones that hurt siblings and mama.  At bedtime, we were reading a story about when Moses had warned Pharaoh to free the  Israelites.  The gist of the devotion was that Pharaoh's pride had consequences and the little kiddo summary was "God, others, me."  Good stuff.  Etienne on his on accord said "So when you are lying you are just thinking about yourself and what you want, right?"  Bingo.
Sigh.  This is my son that routinely misses the entire plot of a movie, that until last week didn't realize Eve was a woman; that still loses a lot in translation.  But not this.  He got this.
That, dear trolls, is what hope looks like.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -That perches in the soul -And sings the tune without the words -And never stops - at all - Emily Dickinson

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