Hope.
According to Emily Dickinson it was the thing with feathers that perches in the soul. It’s not a bad likeness, but in the past twenty-four hours I’ve seen it depicted in stronger ways.
This morning I witnessed a break down in the lunch cafeteria. A student hit the mental wall all of us know so well. It was the line between pushing forward and giving up. The internal, “you’re not good enough! You’re unwanted! You shouldn’t be here!” argument. The struggle was evident on his face, and we all had different ways of reacting.
Some noticed but kept on as usual, not because they didn’t care-- but because when someone is hurt and struggling, these select few feel the responsibility to keep a form of normalcy going. They feel the person needs some kind of continuing action that they can jump back into once they feel better.
Others sensed the friction in the air and were distracted by it, but felt helpless to do anything. They sent up silent prayers of encouragement, but mostly stayed still; torn.
Then there were those who fill me with the most hope. They circled the student and all reached out to him in some way. Their hands patted his back, their voices were hushed words of encouragement, some prayed for him, and many bestowed cheerful smiles.
They stayed like this for twenty minutes, then the frustrated student made eye contact with each one, it was his own silent thanks, and lunch continued.
It was one of the single most beautiful representations of hope that I have ever seen.
Later that same night, I walked into a room of seven or eight people. They were eighteen to twenty and armed with four guitars, two box drums and voices like angels. They were singing the most beautiful acoustic worship songs you’ve ever heard in your life. In that moment the air was thick with this resounding hope. It’s the kind you can only find in the company of people coming together because they love one another.
It was in these moments, on this day, that I felt truly hopeful for this Millennial generation. We can do amazing things when we show love to each other. There is a connectedness this generation holds that is unlike any other I’ve seen.
We are called the distracted generation. But maybe we are constantly connected to our phones and tablets because we are starving to connect with each other. Maybe that’s the whole point of Miss. Dickinson’s poem. Hope is the bird that sings and never stops, no matter what comes its way, it will not stop singing. And hope is everywhere, in each person, keeping them warm, and existing without ever asking anything of its host.
Here’s to you, a hopeful creature, living in a tough world with many distractions. My wish for you is that you keep strong, and not grow afraid or pessimistic. It’s a wild world out here; and if you give it a chance, hope won’t lead you astray.
