Many people appear to have no hope for their future. Many others reach out for what are patently false hopes. Where, if it exists at all, is real hope?
If one might swim the Channel,
On a fair bright and sunlit day,
Such a long and arduous goal,
If aided by sight of nearing cliffs,
Makes each stroke a little gain,
Thus energising body and soul.
Yet if one were swimming same,
On a day of dank and dismal fog,
The monumental task is fraught,
And every stroke’s a struggle,
Where journey’s end is blinded,
With perseverance risking naught.
For when we traverse life’s span,
Vicissitudinous it’s wont to be,
We may falter, fearing future’s lie,
And each new day a struggle be.
For some the strain is way too much,
And though drastic – may elect to die.
In face of life’s perplexing lottery,
Many live blithely just for the present,
Shushing thoughts of what’s ahead,
Or defer their own choice ambitions,
To their offspring’s better chances,
Positing personal sacrifice instead.
With no clear destination in mind,
Can one’s life be but a floundering?
Perhaps easy-going carries less dread,
Than a purposed, self giving stance?
Yet having no hope where life is going,
Risks trudging along with tedious tread.
Hope anticipates to a future point,
But hope profoundly affects the now.
The person who has an aim in view,
Will often have ‘spring in their step’,
Seeing solutions when problems rise,
And their spirits oft refreshed anew.
Lo! Hope is transfigured glorious,
When it is conjoined to faith in Him,
Who, doting Father, loves each soul,
While seeming absent but biding strong,
Has revealed our destinies as eternal,
In Jesus’ gift, unconditional and whole.
This hope is grounded on Gospel truth,
That, though beyond earthly proof, yet
Correlates to the rhythms of true love,
And catholic in the heart’s deep needs:
All humanity intended for endless bliss,
Designed by a loving Architect above.