Still hope doesn’t come from frenetic activity. Trying to be positive or catch some external momentum to fill an anxious void within.
Instead, it grows as the small voice in us hears its echo in the words and actions of another. Or sees the vastness of the sky, or the intricacies of a leaf, and accepts that we are part of something bigger.
Still hope arises from the darkest, smallest space watered by kindness and generosity. Being seen and heard. And known.
And still hope is always there, however small. But requires us to embrace our vulnerability in the quiet and let another in.
Because still hope is never alone.
Thank you for being there.