Most nights we gather as a family to read, to write in journals and to sit by candle light. It calms my husband who struggles a bit with insomnia and reinforces the importance of reading to the little guys. And the journal writing, well, it builds us all up. We start by writing something good about ourselves and then we pass the journals around and each family member writes something good about you in your journal.
It’s a beautiful way to wrap up a day — unless you’re arguing with your husband and have been harsh with your bickering children. Then, you have trouble thinking of something nice to say about yourself. That’s what happened to me anyway. I’d already said I was good at family traditions and celebrations on an earlier night and that I was a pretty good writer. Frankly, I was hard pressed to come up with anything else. So, out of desperation, I scratched down I can do eye shadow pretty well.
It was pitiful, I know. But in that moment, still fresh from angry words, it was all I could think of that I liked about myself.
By morning I was able to laugh at my note and by the weekend I was throwing a tea party for my boys.
That’s the funny thing about hope. It’s slippery, and when times are dark, it’s easy to lose sight of. You can be socloseto what you’re hoping for or socloseto Who your hope is in — and miss it because you can’t see it with your eyes.
Still, it’s powerful. It heals. It lifts. It inspires.
It gives second and third and fourth chances.
To me, that makes it worth searching for even when all you can think of is eye shadow.