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For my friends with overflowing hope:

You, who cannot help but seep out supernatural optimism and light; you, although bombarded with the same heartache as the rest of the world, somehow continue to release expressions of positive possibilities.

Though the storm wages on and wave’s crash around you, your anchor never seems to budge.

This is the gift of hope that resides in your innermost being. This hope is not something you have to dig for because you have learned to remain confident of its unending supply.

Encouraging words come naturally, don’t they? Must be nice, they say.

But it is not always nice, is it. Sometimes it’s discouraging and confusing to realize that your hope is not always welcome.

You have witnessed the tightened jaw, the walls of resistance, and the poverty of hopelessness that attempts to latch itself onto you. You have listened to teachings on hope, while the teachers themselves close their ears and their doors in response to your hope.

You have so much to give, yet so few around you who desire to receive.

You have been uninvited to pity-parties and blacklisted from wallow-fests and most definitely not on the guest list for conferences of complacency.

Sometimes it’s as if the world punishes you for simply having too much hope.

But alas, that is actually true. You have become the enemy simply by telling the truth. But, as you may already know, there is hope for you, still.

From one fledgling of hope to another, may I encourage you today?

We must take heart, and we must take captive the instructions of the hopeless; discerning and discarding any guidance contrary to the belief that our hope was meant to overflow.

Please don’t listen to the hopelessness of the world. Practice the art of shutting out the voices that speak severing sentences; ignoring the impotent words of impasse; and silencing the self-destructive sounds of self-righteousness.

We are voices of hope. Let us never stop using them. Let us steer those empty accusations far away from the sanctuary of our precious treasure.

We must acknowledge the target on our back, my friends. The thief waits for our fortress guards to fall sleepy and weary from the battle, and then he robs us.

When we listen to discouragement, we are looted. When we succumb to the fear of rejection we are swindled. Every dead end that we allow to claim us allows our fortress to be ransacked. We must be courageous and brave.

Let us shake the dust off our feet and extend those strong legs of ours. Let us fix our vision towards a new scene and a fresh setting. Let us take a different route than usual to possibly discover the ones who are looking for us, because truth is, someone somewhere is looking for our hope.

Somewhere, there is a man doubled over in grief of financial distress.
Somewhere, there is a woman curled up in the corner of her child’s hospital room.
Somewhere, there is a son desperate for a future.
Somewhere, there is a daughter who has never learned how to dream.

They need to hear our stories of hope. If we get stuck in the rejection of those around us, we lose out of the adventure of a treasure hunt of souls.

moving mountains

You and I have been through many assaults and have learned the ways of a warrior. Unscathed, we are not; scars and battle wounds, we have many. And somehow, after the storms have passed, here we are with a fountain of hope still pouring out from within.

We may need to exercise our faith and move a few mountains.

Sometimes we only see a mountain as a big trial in front of us, but a mountain can also be an obstacle blocking the light of truth in a situation, or perhaps something standing in the way of us releasing the light of our hope. Sometimes we need to move a mountain in hopes of discovering a space large enough for our songs of hope to be fully released and fully heard.

And when we remove these obstructions, when we carry on in continuing to share our story, we are helping dig a much wider trench, one that allows hope to flood the atmosphere.

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2 thoughts on “Messengers of hope

  1. Oh, I needed this. So often I have tried to stifle my hope in order to be present with others in their pain. And there is a time and a place for that. But I crave the stories of hope, too. And I love to share mine. Hope is my middle name for a reason, and I want to remember that.

    Thank you for giving us permission to be hopeful.

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