In the midst of mystery and unanswered questions, I've been thinking plenty about hope and how it plays out in a season like this. Hope has come easy in the past to a planner such as myself who has back-up plans for her back-up plans. But I now find myself confronted by the boundaries of the hope I possess and challenged to push them out further and then further still.
Today it dawned on me that running from process, avoiding touching base with my heart and refusing to put language to the days that feel particularly foggy isn't actually having hope, even though they are days void of defeatist talk.
There is a stubbornness to hope, a fiery sass, if you will, and I will choose to make space for it.