A tiny silver flash caught my attention on my car. These silver splotches were everywhere.
I looked it up and found these are how baby spiders release from their nest. They leap into their future, riding the breeze of destiny with nothing more than gossamer parachutes.
Recently, I’ve written so much about grief and loss. Time to write about their cheerier cousin, hope.
Hope says the glass is half full and the sun will shine again. Hope stands beside loss and reminds us tomorrow is another day to live. Hope tosses aside broken umbrellas and lifts her face to the rain.
My hope was sorely lacking. In fact, if I stumbled over it and stepped directly in it, I wouldn’t recognize it.
Hopelessness is a pretty dark and lonely place. It’s poorly decorated with uncomfortable dreams too broken to sit upon. The mantle has photos of people long gone. The mirrors have cracks shaped like accusing fingers.
Hopelessness, for me, is a choice. Minute by minute, second by second, I can choose to step into that space. Or I can choose hope.
Choosing hope means listening more to the giggles of my boys than the accusing voices in my head. It means seeing possibilities instead of problems. It means looking at the road rather than the roadblocks. It means focusing on the miracle in the midst of the mess.
Hope is a gossamer parachute, delicate, spun from the depths of ourselves. I’m spinning mine from the threads of smiles from friends, my husband’s cologne, a snarfy kiss from my ancient doxie, a texting connection with my future sister, hippie soul sisters in my office and crushing hugs from my sweaty boys.
I’ll jump into my life. Not sure where I’ll land, yet knowing I will land.
What is your gossamer parachute of hope spun from? Share in the comments.