There are a lot of places I can’t go right now. I can’t visit my family out east, I can’t go swimming, and I can’t go out for coffee with a friend. It will be a long time before I will sit down for dinner with Craig and the kids in a restaurant. Craig’s heart condition leaves us on a very short leash during this time of social distancing. Once they have a vaccine, we can explore the world again. Until then, I sit at home wondering what’s out there in the world. What are people doing? How are they handling it all? It’s so strange waiting here with no real plans and no real future that promises to be much different than today. That’s why I have got to find some hope that’s not grounded in some thing, some place, or some plan. My hope has to come from within me because that’s a place that can’t be put on lock down. I control what happens inside of me and I have autonomy if I look in the right places and if I look for the right things.
With every stroke of my brush I am re-grounded in the moment. I might sway back and forth a little bit- gently drifting into yesterday and floating towards what might come to be tomorrow. I’m not tossing in a tumultuous sea, though. My canvas keeps me moored in the “Right Now.” It gives me a place to reflect and think about what I put my hope in today. I discover the spirituality of the present moment and the types of simple gifts God gives there: things like health, hot water for a shower, safety, a full refrigerator, and a sunny day. This strange liminal space that I am waiting in is showing me that there is good stuff in places I never really noticed it before. Today, liminality speaks to me that hope is everywhere.
Hope is Everywhere, 2020