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. 

Oh, dear Emily Dickinson,
how many times these words
have comforted me over the years.

 I remember a day in January,
 the holidays over,
our family's reserves of cash depleted,
our credit cards strained. 

I was in one of my comforting places,
a lovely shop in Arlington Heights
 called Earthen Vessels. 

 It was a Christian goods store,
 with books and greeting cards
and many lovely gift items.

Soft music was always playing,
and just being there
soothed my troubled soul.. 

On that dreary January day,
I found a diary
with Emily Dickinson's portrait
 on the cover.
Her poetry was sprinkled
 throughout the diary,
and the "Hope" poem
 was especially highlighted.

 

I had to buy it.
I barely had enough cash in my wallet,
or in the family coffers,
 but I had to have it.

  I had to have that Hope
 that Emily was describing so beautifully.
I needed that bird
 to perch near my heart
and sing its song of hope to me. 

Today, years of hope later,
I still celebrate this poem
and its promise.

Let its message comfort you
and lead you through this day.