Hope visits in the light of the moon

I feed you in the light of the moon.

I feed you in the light of the moon and am visited by Hope.

Not the flowery kind, dumbly blind to the gaping wounds of our world made by human hands.

But the stubborn kind. The ferocious kind. The gritty kind.

The kind of Hope who, in the shadow of all consuming disorder, looks to the horizon and with the future cradled in her arms, chooses to take a step toward what could be, even when she may no longer be there to see it come to pass.

Photo: Nathan Dawang | IG - @nate.dawang

I feed you in the light of the moon and am visited by Hope.

Hope who sees the pain and doesn’t look away but instead, sees beyond. Beyond to what’s possible if we go through rather than backward, under, over or around.

Hope who, with a tremor in her voice says, “Not if but when. Not when but how. Not how but who. Not who but me.”

Hope who rolls up her sleeves and chooses the messy, raucous work of engaging. Not for the individual benefit of some but for the collective benefit of all.

Hope who sips on sober determination knowing in its wisdom and its gut, all flourishing is mutual, as is all destruction.

I feed you in the light of the moon and am visited by Hope.

Hope who, as we move through collapse — our collective phoenix moment — is bent on co-creating a new world that is worthy of your giggles.

See, being a mom is entirely vulnerable. How am I to make sense of this Jekyll and Hyde reality: the splintered dissonance between the generous beauty of my micro moment and what’s happening in the macro outside?

But then I feed you in the light of the moon and am visited by Hope.

Hope that expands to hold my slice of the both/and, sitting squarely at the juncture — the critical inflection — where all possibilities lie and gives me reason to step in instead of out.

Today in particular, I send and receive hope from moms in all forms. May we actively participate in the transformation of our world through Loving our little ones.