(For the girl I lit the candles for)

This one starts off unfortunately with despair. I know it’s not death, but it’s got to come close. It’s the feeling that the only possible roads in front of you are filled with only darkness and pain without the possibility of light and joy. It is unbearable and feels like sharp, jagged knives attacking from multiple angles. If darkness is the absence of light, then despair is the absence of hope. Without hope, you may as well be digging your own grave. With a machine.

We then pray for the restoration of hope. And hope is a funny thing because it does not sound anything like the opposite of the cacophonous sounds of the witch-like cries and accusations of despair. In fact, it doesn’t even make a noise or use anything resembling words. Instead, it is quiet and feels like a blanket of light that covers and protects you.

Then you know it’ll somehow be ok.  Time to live again.  To put one foot in front of the other, to not worry about the tallness of the mountain in front of you, to keep dreaming and to trust that even those are not in vain.  

It can sound so quiet and even inaudible at times, but the song of hope is mighty and powerful.  It cannot be silenced.  It ultimately drowns everything else out.