I have a trio of sources of Hope. Daffodils give hope in a
book by Lisa Genova, called “Love Anthony.” The main character,
Olivia, lives on Nantucket Island, where we know New England’s
winters are a ‘bear!’
Even while the winter is long, the daffodils break through
the frigid ground. There is a scene or time when Olivia is
watching the delicate flowers,
“Shivering in the wind, impossibly bright and fragile and
brave against the cold grayness.”
There is a plot that includes deep grief, almost overwhelming
Olivia. She finds hope in the beautiful yellow flowers. They
are, to her, a poignant sign that summer will come again,
“and life will return to her as well.”
When we have faith, there is always hope in something that
will shine into our darkest days. It will give us signs, like
the purple crocuses, the bright and gay daffodils, and the
multiple colored tulips, all whose blooms have managed to
survive the coldest of winters.
Another message, from a man named Reverend Louis E. Campbell,
who wrote in 1982,
“One robin does not make a Spring.”
He goes on to tell us of the hopeful messengers
or ‘Harbingers’ of Spring:
“One (robin) can make the spirit sing!
The tardy snowflakes yet may drift,
But cannot cancel out the gift.
Brave prophecies can lift the heart,
And spur the soul’s ascents to start,
The crowing cock foretells the dawn,
Before the glooms of night are gone.”
I have a funny or silly, but hopeful little story
about my weekend visit with my two grandsons. We
like to walk over to and alongside the little creek
by the side of my apartment building.
There are three bridges that we can go across,
one we must go one at a time, holding Nana’s
When we get in the middle of the two ‘safer’
bridges, the boys (and my little M & M girls
on a different occasion) like to toss pieces
of whole grain bread to the ducks.
I have mentioned, off and on, to them and maybe
to you, that the ducks wake me before the ‘dawn’s
early light.’ They are sending up a cacophony of
quacks to the skies lately!
I usually look at my bedside alarm clock, tuck
my head deeper into my feather pillow, and sigh,
trying to get my last moments of sleep.
Well, guess what my oldest grandson exclaimed,
upon seeing that there were a total of eight
ducks, six male mallards and only two females?
It is almost risqué but he would not really at
the age of nine, mean it in that way, but he said,
“Those girl ducks are ‘lucky ducks!'”
I studied his face for a moment, to see his intent
and serious countenance. He was not meaning to be
disrespectful or improper. So, I asked him,
“Skyler, why do you think the girls are so lucky?”
His answer made sense. It gave me hope, too, in little
quiet soap bubbles floating in my ‘bathtub of life.’
“Nana, they are lucky because they have lots of
boy ducks to protect and fight for them. Oh, and
they can choose which ones to ‘date!'”
He is on the ‘cusp’ of knowing about sexual behavior
but not really thinking of the mating calls and the
ducks with their needs and urges to propagate.
Innocence prevails, that gives me Hope!