A Whispering Hope

Before my daughter’s first swim meet, she had seen the blue ribbons of my youth and wanted to win. But, after a few races, she noticed some swimmers got pink ribbons. She loved pink! But, pink was for 6th place. We wondered what she would do. In the next race, she dove in and swam as normal. Then suddenly, she slowed down, popped her head out of the water, and looked side to side until the other swimmers got ahead. Then she did it again and again. She came in dead last, but she got her pink ribbon, and I’ve never seen a happier swimmer.

Until recently, our heads have been down, as we raced through life. The pandemic came like a current, and racing against it brought many of us to a darker place mentally, emotionally and spiritually than we’ve ever been before. Then came the derecho. But the derecho did not have the impact I expected. It was for many, a moment of light and clarity. People saw a pink ribbon, another kind of joy. Like my daughter, we stopped, checked the lanes next to us and gave our neighbors a much-needed win. I’ve never seen our community so happy.

In letting ourselves become vulnerable, we found strength. In giving, we found wealth. In tragedy, we found victory. In bearing another’s burdens, our burdens became light. In caring for the injured, we found healing. Regardless of faith tradition, this is “pure religion.” Who would have imagined our “better angels” would be dressed in dirty jeans, t-shirts and work gloves, driving skid loaders and wielding tarps, rakes and chainsaws? Now we have seen angels in our community. We have felt hope.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Whether we recognize it as a pink ribbon, our better angels, or Emily Dickenson’s little bird, or in the Christian faith, as the light of Christ that lights every person who comes into this world, hope whispers to us in a soft, familiar voice that causes our hearts to burn within us. It is a connection to Heaven that we carried with us when we dove into mortality and started swimming this race. Hope moves us away from the poetic phrase, “God moves in mysterious ways,” to the powerful, but simple truth that God moves in very personal ways. In times of tragedy, discrimination or division, it is a voice that says: “Slow down. Check the other lanes. Give your neighbors a win. My angels will bear you up.”

By Joseph Miller