“Hope” is the thing with feathers
“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.
Hope is the thing with feathers — a Cactus Wren perched on Saguaro Cactus
Hope is giving and receiving a vase of red roses.
Yesterday, while taking pictures at the picnic, I learned that hope comes from enjoying life, spending time with other people, giving time, sharing laughs and struggles.
Thank you to jakesprinter for another inspiring challenge. If you haven’t visited his blog, step on over; I think you’ll enjoy it.
Daddy’s Hands in Prayer: He truly possessed the fruits of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. (Galatians 5:22-23)
This week, the photo challenge has been hope. I can think of nothing that expresses hope more than my father’s faith.
Alzheimer’s is slowly taking our father away from us. This once brilliant man who could calculate board feet in his head now struggles with the simplest tasks. These hands designed kitchens and built beautiful furniture. These hands worked in factories, farmed, fished, built, cultivated, and created. These hands loved, played, and comforted. These hands and his keen mind provided for his wife and 10 children. Now this horrendous disease is stealing his mind and these hands are mostly idle. He is an honorable, gentle, good, and kind man and I hate it that he is fading away before our eyes. His HOPE is in his unwavering faith in God, in the Bible, in the Catholic Church. As he loses his mental acuity, he still holds on to his daily Mass, Rosary, and Bible readings.