Hope is Winter Work

Recovery is a long heart-work of digging deep, as the Lower Lights Ministry women showed me today. I joined them, along with Morgan and Rachel, at the Farms’ restorative gardening group, and together we planted seeds, whipped kale smoothies, and reflected on what hope means.

These gals each brought a different story to the group, encouraging each other with their own unique wisdom. Their hopes have been distilled to the needs of the one moment they’re in. 

Woman to woman, we tossed ideas around.

“I know hope like the feeling of a morning reset button, or a respawn in a videogame.”

“I hope by living just right now, with faith that good is in the future.”

“I heard HOPE stands for Hold On Pain Ends, and that’s what keeps me going.” All nodded, looking in each other’s eyes.

The next said quietly, “Sometimes I can’t hold hope. But someone else can hold it for me then, and maybe I can hold it for her soon.” 

Hope grows in a community.

We drew or wrote our private griefs on bright construction paper squares and clothes-pinned each to bunting twine, so we could see we’re not alone, and then we shared as we were able. Stories of our children, parents, lovers. The confidence we can’t find anymore. We have to grieve our loss and disappointment to make room for hope. 

We scooped soil into plastic pots and made a mess, trying to keep it off our clothes and laughing as it spread everywhere instead. One woman found some in her sleeve.

And then we brought out seeds. Spinach, kale, peas, and dill. Cilantro and marigolds. Moonflowers and morning glories.

“Hope is just another dream until we act,” Morgan said. So we chose our seeds and planted them, two to a pot, and tucked in tags so we’d remember which was which. She explained the care that each kind needed, and we made a plan for how to grow our seeds. 

Which window will it sit in?

When will we water it?

Will it grow tall and need support?

We touch hope every day when we take action on our plans to grow.