The window next to our dining table looks west to the Olympic Mountains. In the early morning, when the sky is clear and there is snow on the peaks, they emerge from the darkness in tones of deep blue and pink. Every time I see them while drinking my tea, my breath is taken away.
I say to my husband, “The mountains look beautiful this morning.”
He, of course, agrees.
And then I remember. The mountains look beautiful every morning. It is only that I see them rarely in the winter. They do not desert me, they are always there and always beautiful.
Hope is kind of like that for me, too:
- it emerges from inner wells of strength and care
- it emerges when we put ourselves into the work of making the world more fair
- it emerges from the motion of our hearts reaching out in love.
In these days, I will remember when I look into the bank of clouds where the mountains hide or look for Mt. Rainier and find only blank grayness, the mountains abide, and are beautiful. And I’ll remember hope each time, too.