Hope believes the time will come. I didn’t sleep well last night. For some reason, my body clock believed it was time to be awake from 1:30 a.m to 4:00 a.m. And as my mind conversed with itself, it was agreed that sleep would come when it’s time.
Carrying a heavy head today, slowly and mechanically going through the necessary motions of the day eventually brought me to my desk. It was time to write. Yet my mind and heart couldn’t connect as easily as yesterday. And so the conversation with myself continued, “you will write something of value when it’s time.”
As many of you may have read in previous posts, time is one of my fascinations. So it is fitting that my relationship with hope has brought me to the intersection of time and space.
Over many years, I used up time hurrying and struggling to keep up with self-imposed expectations. It is only recently I learned to slow down enough to appreciate the space between time and the power of the pauses while I patiently wait for the right time.
However, I still need to learn. My hopeful anticipation when I’m assured of a certain outcome differs significantly from enduring a proverbial walk through a desert searching for a stream. Why do we find it so much easier to retain a hopeful spirit as we move toward an expected outcome than to believe that our needs will be met when wandering in the wilderness without a clear destination in sight?
It takes faith to bring us hope. Hope is the stream in the desert. It will sustain us. So many times we forget to believe and we may lose our way. But believing that everything will come in its own due time…may just be the hope that brings us what we need.
My apologies for posting a little late. My mom, our Bubby, had a total knee replacement operation and it took the good part of a day to focus on regenerative hope.
Hope is regenerative. Our bodies breakdown from the stress of life and a destined aging process. Our choices can seem futile and our dreams fade with the daylight hours.
Yet, through the example of three amazing human beings, I feel the power of hope surrounding me at the end of this day.
Regenerative hope moved my son to run 22 plus miles through the darkness of negativism after it struck his equilibrium of contentment and drove him to push his physical body to the breaking point as he made it to the other side…positivity, cleansed by exhaustion.
The belief in a better quality of life motivated my mother to overcome her fears, focus on optimism and go through a knee reconstruction surgery in her 80th year of life on this very same day.
I was left in the dust. Yes, I’m focusing on hope this year. However, I was challenged by fear. I lost my father two years ago after surgery. The circumstances were very different, yet the memory is raw and ignited the core of helplessness when you watch your “as is” slip away into an “as was”.
My father “lives” with all of us in our stubborn resolves to not only survive but excel in this life as we continually strive to better ourselves. His ongoing search for the fountain of youth points to the regenerative quality of hope. And as I viewed my mother, his wife, today after difficult reconstructive surgery, I saw evidence of that fountain, as her contagious smile of victory and proof that hope is regenerative lit up the room.
“You teach best what you most need to learn.” Richard Bach.An entire week has been spent allowing these words to slowly simmer, my mind swirling as it attempted to wrap an analysis around this brilliance, seasoning them with the past, present, and future in random order.
Richard Bach’s work was rejected 18 times before his book, “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” was published and became a number one best seller.
He found a love in flying and wrote his passion into stories.Discovering your passion is one step, developing and sharing it to make an impact on others is another huge step.This author’s work, after years of perseverance, eventually inspired millions of readers.
My work continues to evolve within the cadence of daily family activities.My moments of reflection glare at me daily and screech, “Just keep learning.”Humility knocks me down repeatedly with each hurdle faced while navigating an overwhelming learning curve.
A certain style of teaching is naturally built into my maternal being.Ask any of my children.In fact, just this week, my son reads my writing and says, “ You are a philosopher, Mom.”And I laugh and ask him, “Why?”.Pointing the question right back at me, he replies, “Because you are always asking and explaining why.” “That’s why!”
So, who’s the teacher, here?His matter-of-fact youthful appraisal is exactly the reason why I can now finish this piece of work.
Last week as I wallowed in my rut and false starts ruled my days, I turned to my journals, where I penned advice to myself over the years.The following words jumped off the page to wake me from a paralytic state.“To get out of a rut, be more childlike.Watch a child make fun out of just about anything!”
Questions form.What fuels the enthusiasm of a child?Why are children gifted with the innate ability to face challenges with such vigor?
Of course, a vision of my own childhood sneaks out of the memory bank.Days of pretend play out as I watch a movie starring an exuberant and entrepreneurial spirited child build bakeries filled with various delicacies, run a bank with professional and caring service, and eventually design an entire town all from the dirt, acorns, grass and leaves in her backyard.The main plot radiates throughout the picturesque frames, as she also tends to her imaginary home complete with myriads of children.
Seeds of creative inspiration were being planted in the garden of my youth, taking root in my heart and soul.Can you recall some of your own seeds?
A child’s belief, “Everything is possible”, shines in neon.Zealous exploration propels each day’s journey of discovery.Within this tiny framework of a person, lives a larger than life motivation often resulting in exponential results.And every day, a new “Star is Born.”
My father’s stories often opened with the night sky.He was fascinated by the stars and the magnitude of the astronomical universe.Taking my hand and pointing to the stars, he taught me their names.Sometimes, the story of trains carrying stars would follow…”The number of stars in the universe is so great that if each one was represented by a grain of sand”…and his story would go on to fill a whole page, describing a complex formulaic mathematical calculation representing the immensity, in a simple form for a child to grasp.
Attesting to the gift of genetics, his love of learning and teaching by storytelling has been passed down the line.
When a human reaches stardom from dedicating their lives to their passion and craft, we call them a “star”.These “stars” have names that we remember because we admire them and follow their lives.However, “rising stars” exist everywhere, and we may not even know their names.
Everyone has gifts to share.We were all born “stars”.Perhaps, those who shine brightest are those that quickly recognize their limitless potential in this life.Is it possible that the expression, “let your light shine”, was inspired by the stars as they light up the heavens?
My children have been my students and audience for many years.I have lived believing my job was to teach them what I know best.And yet, they continue to teach me with thought-provoking questions and wise statements as they grow into adulthood.I recall both my daughter and son emphatically reminding me, “It’s not about you, Mom.” and my other daughter’s curious, yet pointed, question, “Why did you have children, Mom?”
Last week as I continued to stir the word soup, a savory realization was being prepared.More time was necessary to blend the flavors.A pinch of grace was needed.
Stepping back from the mission to deliver blog posts as scheduled, based only on what I know best, checking the box of self-imposed expectations, I discovered I was unknowingly about to serve my guests fast food, and my heart wasn’t completely in it.
The real learning had to take place first,a higher level of sustenance provided from a source outside of myself.
So the question, “who is the teacher?”, remains yours to answer.
For me, in this moment of time, it is apparent I can still learn from modeling the children.