Yesterday, I watched a small child, just past his fifth birthday, sprawled out on his stomach on the top step of his porch, staring down into the garden bed. He was looking for fresh sprouts, and he found one. It was only a few inches tall, a surprising spring-green against the winter-brown of the garden. He reached down, touching it ever so gently. Then, without looking up, he yelled to his brother to come and see.
I needed that sprout yesterday. And I needed the reminder that small-child hope always keeps looking for green sprouts, especially on the pain-filled days when winter-brown seems like forever and spring-green like a distant memory.
“Far above the Ephel Dúath in the West the night-sky was still dim and pale. There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach. . . . And, putting away all fear, he cast himself into a deep, untroubled sleep.” J. R. R. Tolkien
“May the God of hope fill you . . . so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15:13