Hope . . .

There are seasons in each of our lives - transitional times that, when added together, make up the whole of this human experience. No one remains stagnant their whole life, and if they do, they aren't living much of one (just my opinion. Consider the source here - and yes, I do recognize the simple beauty of a life lived entirely in a 50 km radius of where it began. You can, however, go places without travelling . . . )

We're always changing, being changed, become more of something while being made less of something else. Hopefully it is the loss of a bad habit, a temper, an addiction, etc; hopefully it is also the gaining of a new appreciation for the good in life.

At times, though, the season does not seem so much like winter - a time of relative darkness and a lack of growth - nor does it seem like summer - a time of verdant opportunity and optimism. It isn't even really a season at all. It could best be described as night - the long night of the soul. Brought up by the fading of light in some way, shape or form, be it a loss of a loved one, the breaking of a relationship, the bitter sting of abandonment, the trauma of abuse, the dashing of dreams, or perhaps, a combination of all these, this night threatens to engulf those experiencing it.

In this night, it seems crazy to hope. But what is hope if not the belief that that which is is not final? Let's break it down to something a bit less ambiguous and metaphorical. Someone who has spent any amount of time studying to enter into a particular line of work doesn't do it thinking that they would be a student the whole time - rather, they hope to be gainfully employed in that line of work, or at the very least, not spend the rest of their life locked in the same four walls they now enjoy. The status quo - being a student - is not considered the destination, just part of the journey. There is hope that one day, I will be _______ (insert goal there).

You don't plant a field hoping it all dies. When you first plant anything, there isn't much to see, but you hope that things will happen like they should and that soon, you will have something to show for it - something tangible, real . . . edible.

Day always follows night. It is not foolhardy to hope for day when your soul seems mired in night. And sometimes, if we let ourselves but look up, there is light on display that can only been seen during times of great darkness. Perhaps that's the very reason for the night.