Stepping out

This is my small story of feeling hopeful.
Hope is born in the dark. It lies there like a little seed, dreaming, for a long while. I do love the darkness - it is winter, and it is rest. It is curled up infront of a fire with big socks on. It is quiet, and it is calm. There is room enough here to hold all dreams. And it is in these dreams where hope begins.

But sometimes on my journey, I fall a long way from my dreams, and waves of depression wash over me, try to steal me under. On those stormy red days, even getting out of bed becomes an act of faith - that I will be able to weave my numbness into my deep breathing and day song.

An act of hope is getting up anyway. An act of hope is making packed lunches for people you love. And act of hope is putting on something special to wear, when yesterday's baggy tracksuit is calling you from its heap on the floor. An act of hope is making yourself a cake.

A big act of hope is stepping out - into nature,
to trees, to scrunchy leaves, to birds singing, and streams flowing, to paths winding, to hills rising up, then down.

Stepping out. Not because you have to, but because you choose it, as medicine, as an act of faith that the world will hold you, soothe you, need you. And you need her. So very much.