It snowed yesterday. This winter has been challenging, at best, even for the toughest of outdoor enthusiasts, one of which I certainly am not. I don’t believe I was even aware of the fence yesterday as I traveled to Rockford for an important court hearing.
I thought it was going to be an important court hearing.
It seems someone forgot to file a paper and waited three days too long. That sort of thing happens. A child is made to wait…yet again. She hangs in that dark, unknown place; she has no choice but to remain at the mercy of the decision-makers. What is she waiting for? She doesn’t really know. I am waiting for the same thing, whatever that may be. Sometimes, I am glad that all of this is not up to me. I am not in charge. I may (and do) tell my kids that I am in charge, but I sense that this is only as true as the task at hand.
So what can we expect until the next time? We don’t know. Fear, anger, defiance, hostility, depression, and deep sadness are among the possibilities. But there is also hope. Hope and faith that what is in her best interest will, indeed, happen. Sometime.
Hope, too, for the promise of brighter days which must certainly be around the corner. Today’s sun does its best to will away the heaping, debris-laden mounds of gray that remind us of the arduous winter. We sense that we have nearly endured it. We hear next week’s prediction for, yet again, snow, but we hold on to the promise that we have felt the warmth of the spring sun. We know it is coming. We hope.
She hopes. She hopes for something, but she doesn’t know what. She hopes to always remember who she is, how she has been and is loved, and to keep deep within a place inside of her, the notion that though things are not always as we wish them to be, there is always hope for tomorrow.