Hope

So, I can’t complain; no one is to blame. I’m sure my parents

And grandparents had their dreams and meant the best for me.

Life is all too often a difficult vehicle to maneuver. Mostly,

You get off the highway and find yourself relieved that you

Made it home alive one more time.

(Now this brings out the cynic in me.) I have often mentioned

Life’s flowery bouquets handed us along the way. Sometimes,

Though, I feel as if I’m alone praying to a God who is indiffer-

Ent to my ardent pleas. Curiously, He’s always portrayed open

Armed at glorious peace with that reassuring halo-glowing hair.

But still, regardless of all the pitfalls to bear, we the people find

A continual need to cultivate some semblance of spiritual hope

From Nature or from Above. Having worked in a nursing home

Years ago, I saw what it was like to carry the weight of old age or

Chronic infirmity, saddled with the associated loneliness and pain.

There were many who awoke each day and went on breathing

Laboriously in and out as if nothing really mattered anymore.

And then there were a few who saw the flowered meadow by

The tree-lined stream, who surveyed the distant hills beyond,

Who would point saying with a hopeful measure of surrender:

“When it’s my time to go, I’d sure like to be buried over there.”

Chris Hanch 4-15-17