Yesterday I started writing about hope. Ultimately I caved after the sun didn’t show its’ face all day. My writing was as bleak as the sky of another wintry day. Mary Oliver the gifted poet died and so did my words on the page. I just wanted to sit down in my despair and stay there. I sat on the couch whining about my fractured fibula and decided to not move a muscle. Being immobile added to the depression gripping me and hope seemed like an impossible dream. My pen only managed to write the next paragraph.

Gray skies outside seem to be our new normal in Richmond. I’m not sure if Seattle gets as many rainy days as we do these days. To make matters worse, every day brings more tension between our politicians and the many people who are currently not working due to the government shut down.  The lamenting of those suffering from unthinkable tragedy in Nairobi ways heavy on my heart.  Where is the light at the end of the tunnel?

The sun came back out today, and my gloom shifted. I wonder if the light we see around us is a ray of hope in these valleys of the shadows.  Sometimes the light of hope surprises us where it shows up.  Today it arrived while I was making a cup of tea.  My Yogi teabag quote prompted me to pick up my pen and finish what I started yesterday. The quote is, “Spread the light: be the lighthouse.”  We may be down, but we are not defeated as a fitness coach once told me.  I want to be a light every day, but days like yesterday come and throw shade my way. The good news is that when we are down, others seem to have been spared from that pit. I do believe there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it emerges every time we reach out to others. I will spread the light and let it shine just like those who have helped me rise up out of despair.