The second poem I have pretty much committed to memory is by one of my favorite poets, Emily Dickinson…
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
I’ve been wanting to write about Hope, seemed like a natural follow-up to Tears, Laughter, and Dreams, but wasn’t sure where to start.
As parents we go through the whole hope process from the beginning. We hope we’ll get pregnant or that the adoption will go through. We hope for a safe delivery, healthy child, good child care, getting into a certain pre-school, making friends, eating their veggies, learning how to read. We hang on to our hopes so tightly we forget to let go and leave room for grace.
In our hoping we have lost faith. There isn’t any room for anything to perch in our soul – we haven’t even left room for air. The ego has taken over and smashed out room for possibility.
Is hope perching in your soul? Is there room for light? Room for possibility? Just one big breath, than another and there will be room. Trust me.