When Hope returns. I won’t demand—“Where have you been? What kept you away?” Instead, I’ll usher Hope in by the fire. I’ll give Hope cinnamon-sticked hot cider and tiny pink cakes.
I won’t hold back from hugging Hope—over and over. I’ll chase Hope around the house, making it giggle like a happy little kid. If we play a game, Hope will hide in the most obvious places. I’ll laugh, “I get your metaphor. Always in sight! Huh, Hope?”
When Hope is ready to sit and talk, I’ll pile on warm blankets and insure a bevy of beverages. I’ll put away my phone and all distractions. I’ll listen with my core—open ears and heart. Hope will whisper: “You’re brave to share this moment, despite hurts and life circumstances set against our time together.”
When Hope asks for my opinion, I’ll confide, “Hope, I don’t host you in ignorance, rather in surrender.” I’ll dance a little shimmy, making Hope laugh. “Hope, you are a dance without choreography and sometimes without a partner.” If I choke up, I won’t have to say more. Hope understands, rocking back and forth like a wise and kind grandparent who knows me better than I know myself.
I’ll continue to feed the fire around Hope, keeping it warm. Hope will have the coziest of slippers and certainly no lack of love. I will nurture and feed Hope, so it will grow. I’ll encourage Hope’s presence and work to insure that Hope feels so at home with me that it never wants to leave again.
Your Brave Tutu (You’re brave, too-too!)
P.S. For all you “hashtag” lovers use this one: #thereisnoplacelikehopefortheholidays