Each year, there comes a day with an inevitable conclusion: it’s time to get the winter coat out of the closet, the one that is Really Warm. As I snuggled into its puffy splendor, I was reminded that I spent most of last winter with a breeze blowing right through my middle, thanks to a missing button. Somehow across all those chilly months, I couldn’t find time to replace it.

Following an extended search for my sewing kit, I finally tended to the long-neglected repair. It took all of ten minutes, and now I’ll be toasty warm all season.

Dear ones, in this hustling bustling time, full of urgent demands,

What might need tending?

What might need mending?

Whether friendships or well-being or buttons,

May we bask in the warmth that follows.

This time of year in Boston can seem endlessly dark. Not depressing, or dire – I mean actually dark.

It is dark when I go to work. It is dark when I return. 

It felt like midnight when I stomped down the pitch black street the other day, though it was probably only about 6pm. As I turned the corner, I was blinded by a gorgeous swirl of color. The church I pass almost every single day hosts a treasured array of Tiffany windows, but somehow I’d never seen them alight from the inside out.

What glories I’ve been passing by, lying in shadow on sunny days. 

Dear ones, our dark seasons can be hard.

But sometimes, maybe,

the dimming of one light allows another to shine forth.

Tonight I attended a concert that did not go at all as planned. The lead singer was ill, and there was a last minute scramble for substitute musicians, which left the audience a little deflated. Several folks left before the performance even started, leaving the small venue feeling even smaller.

Friends, it was magnificent.

Four musical geniuses showed up together, whole hearted and generous and willing to go wherever the music led them. Each song had an unrehearsed unfolding to it, surprising even the players themselves as it developed.

Dear ones, sometimes our most careful plans unravel.

When they do, may we gather, humble and courageous.

May we be met by others who cheer our progress.

May we weave a glorious world together.

Friends, I think of this experience often – unexpectedly coming across this steely and quite tangible form of hope.  

Lately I am thinking that maybe all of our roles in life might be reflected in those yellow gloves at the bottom.  

To rise each day,

wherever we may be,

and polish up the Hope.

** Repost from 2022 **

While I walked to a meeting in New York this week, head full of the latest grief-inducing news, I came across the Hope sculpture. I wasn’t feeling very hopeful, and did not want to look like a tourist, but took a quick photo for good luck.

Later on, I noticed a gloved hand poking through near the “E” in the photo. It had never occurred to me that it’s someone’s job to polish up the Hope every day.

I bet there are days when this job seems like an honor, when the sun is shining and the birds are singing and the hope is burnished with love and care. And I bet there are days when this job is drudgery, and a quick swipe with a rag is all that’s possible.

Friends, let us give thanks for those who keep our hope shining.

And when we can, let’s return the favor.

“HOPE IS DEFINITELY NOT THE SAME THING AS OPTIMISM. IT IS NOT THE CONVICTION THAT SOMETHING WILL TURN OUT WELL, BUT THE CERTAINTY THAT SOMETHING MAKES SENSE, REGARDLESS OF HOW IT TURNS OUT.”  

– VACLAV HAVEL