Arms of Hope – Therapy

Hope is my therapy.  Where else can such a profound sense of acceptance be felt?  It exists for all of us, gentle support that anchors our souls.  A belief and expectation of something good.

Two blue jays visited today on a branch outside my window as if to remind me of a universal smile of goodness.   A pureness that radiates from nature all around me, a perfected treasure gifted to me to view daily if I slow down enough to do so.  If I delete one “o” what remains in the word is the strength I put my hope in.  For it is in recognizing that power and glory that I accept my own goodness.  

My initial inability to rebound and cope seamlessly with loss pours life into these words.  They exist only because I still have hope.  Hope in a future, not without pain but with a gift.  The gift of believing each day, itself, is a gift. 

We wake naively without any anticipation of who we could lose in a split second, an occurrence taking only .00001157 of the entire day, changing the course of life for thousands of others. That one second does not define the life of the lost, rather it defines the implication that even a second of each day matters.

That particular second changed everything for me and many others this past week.  Except Hope did not change.  Hope remained a constant.  Life goes on because of Hope.  Hope that all happens eventually for good.  Even if the temptation is to sink low into an abyss of confusion, the universe reminds us that all is good with it and invites us to put our hope in the power harnessed within.

Strong arms of healing wrap around me gently, reminding me that my pain of loss needs hope now more than ever.

©Erika K Rothwell

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