“Back at you!” I hear like a “Ho, ho, ho!” In a twinkle as quick as Santa’s wink, my prayer ricochets off the rooftops and lands back on my pajama lap. Ah, yes, I smile. My rooftop, too, is looked down upon and blessed. I cannot outdo you, my God, in generosity. Thank you.
It has been many years since that school bus ride, and I am still pondering the nature of hope with much more to be learned. But even then, at that age and in that moment, I knew that hope was deep and strong and true. Somehow, I also knew that it would make demands of me.The difference was that hope didn’t just happen as we expected from a wish. Hope was participatory. It might call for courage, it might test me, even seem unreasonable at times. But a conviction was emerging within me that said it would be worth whatever the investment. Those thoughts were not fully formed in that long-ago moment, but they were nascent, tangible, and as available to me in memory now as is the memory of last night’s dinner.
