But the needy will not always be forgotten, nor the hope of the afflicted ever perish. (Psalm 9:18)

It’s as if to say,

“One Load of Hope coming right up!”

like it’s dip-able, like it might slide around on a hot plate,

like it might stain your blouse,

or better yet, like you can wash it, fold it, and put it in a basket.

If hope were a thing with a label, I’d buy it. I’d buy and buy and pass it out in wishes like harmony and coca-cola.

But since it’s not a thing, since it’s not a color or a number or place, since it’s rather a matter of time and space – like knowing in this present moment that the future is fine – I can’t buy Hope, but I can be an agent of it.

Hope, the invisible commodity, given like spirit, can ride on the heart like butter on bread, the mere vehicle.

Once, I had to ask for forgiveness, and the mouth said back, “I forgive you,” and it was those words, the quick needle that went in, that delivered such security that many dark days later, infused with HOPE, I was able to return again and again to the one who loved me. 

It makes me crazy to think about how physical God gets, like to insist to be born as a baby, to insist to be born into me. So in all this absurd and unearned Spirit housing I get to do, how can I not also forgive? How can I not also Hope? 

How can I not put my hands into a basket-full of nasty, a day after day of dirty life grimed on? How can I not grab the spoon and ladle the food generously to those who don’t have it? 

I am not just a body meant to care for my own. Hope carries us far beyond our own bodies and into the lives of others, even into the heart of God.

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Some ladies I love, with BlogNosh Magazine, are in New Orleans being voices of hope with Tide – yeah, whose name is getting bigger with a campaign, but y’all, Tide is doing a great work by helping families affected by disaster, and though you can’t buy Hope, you can buy a darn good bottle of detergent and put a clean shirt up over the top of it.