Hope Lost and Found

I remember when I nearly lost hope completely.

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I remember holding out my hand to grab hold of a tiny seed or speck and I thought to myself:

Even if hope is only this big, I can hang on.

And I remember thinking:

If the stories I’ve heard about hope are real, I can keep going.

And I remember laying in my bed, barely hanging on, knowing that the next day my life was going to change drastically for both me and my kids.

And I remember thinking:

Hope. It’s got to be real. I’ve heard the stories.

So I held on.

And the next day came.

And I survived.

And I overcame.

And I remember thinking that I needed hope to be real so my kids could see it too.

Experience it.

See something new.

Hope.

I’ve been contemplating this word these past few weeks.

I think we all need to cling to that speck of hope.

We need to share our hope at times.

Borrow hope at times.

Maybe that’s how hope works.

Shared. Borrowed. Clung to.

Just hang on.

Hope.

It’s real.

Sometimes it’s real tiny.

But it’s there.

Borrow mine if you need it.

I borrowed some that night and for a season.

Hope.

Here’s my hand. Take some. It’s free

Published by christellelerryn

Blogger with a thing for love and hope and grace and adventure. Wrote a Children's Book. Creative. Work in a homeless shelter and treatment facility. Every day I hear the words "I just can't do this anymore" and I remember when I whispered those very words. And I remember hope that whispered through my soul from stories like yours. We all have one. A story. We are more alike than different.

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