One of the things I’m most grateful for, especially when life hits me low, is that quiet moment in the evening when I’ve found the perfect playlist, the characters in my novel are not only speaking to me, they’re dancing before me their wild dance of fiction and interaction and drama, and I forget myself in writing what they’re feeling. I lose sight of the world that overwhelms me—all the troubles I have absolutely no control over—and I remember what captured my heart and mind in the world of creation and imagination from the time I could open my eyes and comprehend the world around me.
It is a startlingly rebellious act to have hope for the future; any future, but especially yours. Especially when you have no logically verifiable reason to hope. I like to think in those moments of the Star Wars’ rebellion in particular; they had ZERO chance of success when you look at the stats. The Empire controlled every single major planet, and even the outlying planets shivered under the shadow of their reach.
But because there were those crazy few who clung to the insanity of hope in the face of terrible evil, there was an opening in the wall—a chink of light in the darkness.
The world has been so unutterably cruel to the lowest and most vulnerable, and every day, it just gets worse. There are more nights than I can count when I’ve cried myself to sleep, thinking about the terror and pain so many are living in.
So I describe to myself insanely distant things, things that I only have a basic knowledge of, things that only the afterlife can show in its fullness.
Someday, cruel words won’t have the sway they do.
Someday, the default will be to love each other.
Someday, it will be as easy to see the face of Christ in each other as it is to see our own reflection.
One single Man took on the heart of the Kingdom of Darkness, that darkness that ensnared men’s hearts to hatred and evil and vile living. He gave hope to the smallest, the trampled on, the misunderstood, the ignored, the brutalized.
He’s still here, you know. Peering at you through the eager eyes of a child, sending chills through your heart at that perfect song, giving you comfort and solidarity in the kind voice of a friend over the phone when you feel like you just can’t take it anymore.
The hailstones from the cold winds will fade with the sunrise.
There will be warm waters to swim in, to comfort your chilled skin.
Evenings filled with soft gasps and inhales and hushed exclaims of intimate knowledge, tenderness, love, and fulfillment will be there.
In the interior of your heart, there will be a quiet voice, a soft hand, to dry the tears from your face, and to tell you just how lovely you are, and how loved you are.
Don’t lose that insanity of hope.
Be rebellious, dear heart.
Have hope in the ash, in the burning, in the refuse of destruction.
There are roots for life beneath their destruction, and they are worth waiting for.
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