Ever since I wrote about what it feels like when the future vanishes mid-sentence, I have been living in that suspended space where life reminds you that so much is outside of our hands. It has been disorienting. Tender. A season of not knowing.
For most of my life, hope has been my compass. I have always been the one scanning the horizon for the glint of good news. A possibilities girl. A believer in bright outcomes. Not because I skip over the hard parts, but because I have always trusted that there is light in the distance, waiting for its moment to arrive and illuminate the next small step.
But the last couple of months, hope has felt like a pocket I kept patting, only to find regret, pain, or, worst of all, numbness. I know I am not alone in that in-between place, the one where the waiting asks more of us than we feel we have.
And then, recently, something softened in my heart. A tiny spark, like a match being struck in a dark room, whispering, Your pockets have not run dry. There is still hope here.
The moment it happened, I thought of dandelions. The bold little ones that push up through sidewalk cracks. I have always loved them, always paused to admire their yellow resilience.
Hope arrived like that. A bright, improbable bloom in a place I had not expected anything to grow.
It did not promise me that everything would be okay. It did not bring guarantees. It simply reminded me that life finds a way. That the heart knows how to lift itself, little by little, toward any sliver of light it can find. That a crack in the ground can be a doorway for something beautiful.
I think that is what hope is asking of me now. To trust that something tender can grow in those broken, honest places.
I used to think hope was mostly a promise of what is to come, and I still believe that. But hope feels different today. Softer. Trembly. More vulnerable. Being open to hopeful surprises, especially in painful places, is some of the bravest work we can do.
I do not know what the future holds. None of us do. But I can feel a small light again, the kind that makes the next step visible. That is enough for now. A single dandelion’s worth of faith.
To those of you who are cracked open and growing anyway, I am right here with you. Life is never done offering its miracles. Let’s keep reaching for the light.
With love,
Kelly Rae
PS: You can find the new print above right here in my shop. xo
