Today, while talking with a friend, I found a little handmade booklet. On its cover was one word: Hope. The inside was blank.
My friend, who is the helpful sort, had an old man approach him and ask for his help. So while my friend helped the old man, I took the book and started to write about hope.
I started with words from my favorite movie: “Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best of things.”
And I found myself writing on…and on…page after page.
I ended by writing this:
“And when you think you’ve come to the last page, Hope takes you by the hand, looks you in the eye, and says, ‘This is not how this story ends.'”
Maybe I was telling myself what I needed to hear.
Maybe I was preaching to my own choir.
All I know is, without Hope, I could not live, could not breathe.
Hope is the one thing I know of that can never die.
While love is the one thing I know of that is stronger than death, hope is the one thing I know of that is stronger than my fears.
And that is a good thing indeed.