A Child Named Hope

There once lived these two little girls
They called one of them I
The other, they called Hope
They were best friends growing up

I was always lost in some deep thought
She was not one to settle for easy answers
The grown-ups always told her
Hope had all the answers
"If you would only listen to her"

Trouble was,
The grown-ups may have been right about Hope
But Hope also knew
I had to wrestle with the questions
For wrestling was necessary
So I could take ownership of the answers she found
All Hope offered
Was the steadfastness of friendship

In her years of wrestling,
I had to peel away the layers of idealism
She learnt she had to start seeing the world for what it was
Instead of what ideals she wanted it to be
I started putting distance between herself and Hope
For Hope's answers seemed too easy

The years flew by
And the distance remained between the friends
Hope often cried herself to sleep wishing things were different
I had to walk her journey alone
But Hope also resolved to keep pace from the distance

Hope had an older sister
Her name was Love
Love's wisdom was encouragement to Hope
So that her strength and friendship could endure
While I had her heart broken over and over again

The day came when I hit rock bottom
Hope found her in the corner of that dark room
I had been around Depravity too much
The scars from her own battles were many
But even more
Were the pieces of her heart
Shattered from the stories of brokenness she encountered
To live without hurting would be an unnatural existence

I grew afraid of being alone
For in those dark corners of loneliness
The pain and the scars tormented her
In that time,
Hope and Love found her

That night,
Hope held the candle as Love rocked her to sleep

But I was ashamed of the distance she had put between them
For a long time she pushed their friendship away
For a long time she was convinced
The only way she could have Hope and Love back
Was to completely walk away from Depravity

But Hope and Love pursued her
Hope showed her she never left
Even in her years of friendship with Depravity
Hope simply made space
For Depravity to teach her to be real

Enough time has passed now.

I sat in the middle of a conversation last night frustrated that all I could offer was another story of depravity. I found myself second-guessing the things I had said, angry that I didn't have more humour to offer.

But the truth is
Between the emotional scars that I am slowly finding healing from and the stories from the streets of Atlanta and Berlin
Between the wounds of close friends that I carry (because Hope, in her twisted sense of humour, gave me way too big a dose of empathy) and the faces of children in the reservations of South Dakota
I have seen too much Depravity that to live without hurting would be unnatural

I have also known Hope for too long to live in despair
But for me to try to write Hope, Love or Depravity out of my life would be compromising my story.

So all I can do now is to go out
And see anyway
Hurt anyway
Love anyway

Live anyway.