In the mid-’80s, my grandmother, Dickie Evenson (an artist, writer and poet) published a little book of her poetry called Interim, with this Prologue: “… Because I believe that poetry should be individual in its form and interpretation, just like fingerprints, and if you find that they pluck the strings of your emotions, then I shall be pleased, for human sentiments must be shared, even with other humans with whom we may never personally become acquainted during this brief span of years on this planet. All these poems were written during intervals of changing scenes of life, hence the name, ‘Interim.'”
When I was revisiting it last week, I found a Haiku she had written as a meditation on a Bible verse about the concept of hope:
“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” — Hebrews 11:1
While I am not particularly (or at all) religious, the sentiment expressed by this verse definitely spoke to my own feelings about hope . Hope is a force that I am lucky to have in spades and is often only thing that gets me through challenges, as has absolute faith in the intangible concept of “everything that is supposed to happen (and truly worth it) will eventually work out” … even when it takes a while (especially when my patience, stick-to-it-iveness and positive thoughts bank are all a little lower than normal).
Here are a few more lovely quotes on hoping for things that are worth waiting for.
“Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and never forget, that until the day God will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these two words, ‘Wait and Hope.'” — Alexandre Dumas
“Hope is the thing with feathers/That perches in the soul/And sings the tune without the words/And never stops at all.” — Emily Dickinson
“to love life, to love it even/when you have no stomach for it/and everything you’ve held dear/crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,/your throat filled with the silt of it./When grief sits with you, its tropical heat/thickening the air, heavy as water/more fit for gills than lungs;/when grief weights you like your own flesh/only more of it, an obesity of grief,/you think, How can a body withstand this?/Then you hold life like a face/between your palms, a plain face,/no charming smile, no violet eyes,/and you say, yes, I will take you/I will love you, again.” — Ellen Bass (from “The Thing Is”)