A Glimmer of Hope

I am usually a very hopeful person. Lately, I have struggled to keep my hope alive. The last few months have been extremely difficult for me, while I watch the in fighting in my own house, the tragedies unfold around the world, and the blame game thrown at so many of the people in my own country. My personal problems are intangible, except that my father is sick and in the hospital 1200 miles away, while my mom is alone dealing with it. That is very tangible to me. It is visceral and audible as my heart pounds in my head, from worry, fear of what I cannot even offer help.
I have been feeling desperate, more than a little broken about what I cannot control, what I cannot change. I hang on with whatever is at my finger tips, this small key board, my racing brain, my breaking heart. My hope is in me, though smaller than it was, I continue to hold on to my belief that if I hang on just a little longer something wonderful can happen, though the odds certainly aren't there to verify it's existence. For me it has never been about what does happen, but rather what can happen. If not for those moments of pure joy just thinking about what miracle could show itself in any given moment, I wonder if I would simply disappear. I watch for the the tiniest shifts in the atmosphere to show me I am on the right track, that my God given ability to try and see the bright side is still alive.
I am all about the simplest of pleasures. A smile from a stranger, the laugh of a child seeing something for the very first time, the moment I see someone I love. All these things show themselves to me as signs that there is still good, still wonder, still awe to be felt in this world I live in. Everyday, there are those who find me simple, as in insipid. Their cynicism is what seems to guide them in their beliefs. They say, write or tell things that knock my breath away just long enough to remind me that not everybody is nice, as if I needed that reminder at my age. I have seen things so wrong they haunt me still. Working with the elderly I had seen unbearable cruelty, often times by the very families they sacrificed to raise. I have seen unkind, thoughtlessness. I have never needed reminders of those.
Moving to Houston, after having lived in my home state of Ohio for so many years, took real courage. We are not all equal around this country. I was made aware of people who moved to Ohio from here who also were not immediately, if ever accepted. I have lost the careers I counted on. I cannot support my family, though I had done it all my adult life. The sacrifice for me had been harsh and often times so humbling it has brought me to my knees. So I need my hope. I need my signs that things can be so much better than they are now.
The first thing I noticed the summer we moved here was there were no lightning bugs. No fire flies roamed the yard, lighting up guiding the moon beams to cross my face. No tiny insects flew around my eye line and head, swirling in the night sky, reminding me of the romance of a cool evening breeze. I had naively thought Texas had no such bugs. Maybe it was the humidity, the giant prehistoric looking cockroaches, the predators unseen in the darkness, I was not even aware of. Whatever the reason, we had no little delights lighting up our sanctuary.
A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting out back at our new house, just enjoying the cool air, listening to the coyotes, I now hear in the distance. So many new sights, smells to take in here as if I had moved hundreds of miles away from our last house, when in reality we moved only a couple of miles. No longer did we have a bayou behind us, but now we had woods, great towering pine trees, with flowering vines hanging as banners in the moonlight. I saw a simple flash of light, the tiniest shooting star twinkle within the branches of the trees. First one and then another, dashing lights weaving my dream state through the woods. I couldn't wait to tell Mike, who at the time was fitfully sleeping in our room just steps away.
Tonight, while sitting under the evening sky, I saw my little miracles, the flashing lights of my childhood. There were so many tonight, it looked as if they were Christmas lights twinkling just outside our fenced boundary. I couldn't help but smile. It was a sign, tailor made for me. This is how my God speaks to me in hushed tones and small reminders that my hope, though slightly battered lives on in me, and Him. I had prayed for a glimmer of hope this morning. I knew tonight, all was asked and answered.