Hope is a difficult emotion for me to pinpoint. Perhaps I’m jaded. Hope tends to evade my conscious life.
But I do see hope every day. It’s just hard for me to label. I see it in my students’ faces when they ask if we’re going to have a final exam (spoiler: I don’t give exams in composition classes). I see it in my teenager’s face when she asks to go to the library or to a friend’s house (spoiler: yes to the library; is your homework done to the friend’s house).
I see it constantly in my preschooler. He hopes he can wear his favorite shirt to school. He hopes they play outside, even if it IS raining. He hopes there’s a Spiderman treat in his lunchbox. He hopes he can play outside when he gets home. He hopes. Constantly.
And as I look at him, with all his hopes, and at my daughter with hers, I look deeper at myself - and inside myself - for my hope.
I’m a big fan of knowledge. I like to know things. I read; I take classes; I constantly want to know. And if I want something to happen, I need to make it happen. But there are some things that are out of our control.
I hope I win Powerball (spoiler: I won’t; I never remember to buy a ticket).
I hope so many terrible situations in the world can find a resolution through the works of people together (I wish I had a spoiler for that one).
I hope for there to be more to life than simply this world.
Perhaps hope is faith, belief - but I think it’s hope that brings me to church every Sunday, the optimism that there is something more, that there is a higher power who is love and that we are all a part of that love. And Jesus, his life, his work, his death for us all, is an embodiment of that hope.
Kylie Olean
But I do see hope every day. It’s just hard for me to label. I see it in my students’ faces when they ask if we’re going to have a final exam (spoiler: I don’t give exams in composition classes). I see it in my teenager’s face when she asks to go to the library or to a friend’s house (spoiler: yes to the library; is your homework done to the friend’s house).
I see it constantly in my preschooler. He hopes he can wear his favorite shirt to school. He hopes they play outside, even if it IS raining. He hopes there’s a Spiderman treat in his lunchbox. He hopes he can play outside when he gets home. He hopes. Constantly.
And as I look at him, with all his hopes, and at my daughter with hers, I look deeper at myself - and inside myself - for my hope.
I’m a big fan of knowledge. I like to know things. I read; I take classes; I constantly want to know. And if I want something to happen, I need to make it happen. But there are some things that are out of our control.
I hope I win Powerball (spoiler: I won’t; I never remember to buy a ticket).
I hope so many terrible situations in the world can find a resolution through the works of people together (I wish I had a spoiler for that one).
I hope for there to be more to life than simply this world.
Perhaps hope is faith, belief - but I think it’s hope that brings me to church every Sunday, the optimism that there is something more, that there is a higher power who is love and that we are all a part of that love. And Jesus, his life, his work, his death for us all, is an embodiment of that hope.
Kylie Olean