There is a poem by Emily Dickinson called “Hope” is the Thing with Feathers that I came into contact with for the first time in a Dead Koontz book of all places (it was in one of his Frankenstein novels, if you are curious). After reading Dickinson’s poem for the first time, I had to immediately go back and read it again. I now have it open in a tab on my computer and I read it over again every time I log on. Hopefully after marinating in that poem for a few more months, my brain will have actually soaked some of the meaning of hope so skillfully conveyed in the poem.
Speaking of hope, I wonder if maybe we should pray for hope more. I know we ask God for more faith, and we could always use more love. Why not add hope to the collection—especially since despair is usually either nibbling away at the edges of our lives or taking giant bites out of our moral. Let us try giving hope free reign in our lives and see what happens. If you haven’t already, go read that poem. Dean Koontz made me read it, and now I am paying it forward. No procrastinating allowed.