December 15th

Maybe one of the most radical kinds of hope is trust. Not trust about the future. Not, it’ll be OK in the end. But rather, in-the-moment trust. Risky trust in the here and now. Trust in another human being, trust in yourself. All the tiny “I trust you’s” of every day.

The trust when you open your mouth and your soul, bearing hope that what goes out from you won’t come back empty. We bear hope in the sounds and shapes of our voices entering the world - tiny, tentative incarnations each time we speak. The radical hope of letting go words out of our lips and praying they find a home in the ears and hearts of others.

Whether in the offer of a cup of tea or the sharing of a tender dream, every utterance is a moment of hope. A reaching out, in faith that there may be waiting for us listening, understanding, tired grateful hands ready to hold a hot mug.

A trust carried in thoughts and cries and jokes and whispers, a pilgrimage through the space between us, bearing hope in every breath.

[Image description: A flag stone path winding over hills into the distance. The green and gold land of the Peak District. Distant walkers and beckoning patches of sun.]