Sometimes life feels like a continuous narrowing of possibilities: the babies who begin with infinite potential soon learn that fire burns, that relationships can end in heartbreak, that some cancers are inoperable. Caution becomes am amulet against a dangerous world.
The human race survived because our ancestors learned to fear tall cliffs and dangerous animals. In our own lives, we learn that aspiration leads to disappointment, that rejecting others protects our selves, to hit back.
It’s hard not to let prudence blossom into cynicism.
Against the weight of our life experiences, hope seems a fragile twig indeed. Yet while the fawn instictively flees from flame, human babies reach for it. Long ago one of our ancestors captured fire and tamed it. We find true love. We seek the end of disease.
Humanity survives because of fear; we thrive because of hope.
Hope is not an emotion but a discipline. It is easy to criticize, to doubt, to give up. But for hope to survive the calamaties of daily life requires singular focus and determination. Mere longing flares and dies. True hope abides in the deep stillness of faith.
Hope abides in faith, faith in that which is larger and greater than us. In He who is greater than all our fears and weaknesses. In He who created us. In He who walked in our shoes and knows are emotions and weakness and loves us still and died and was raised for us in our weakness.
I think this is the precise moment where the mass of people who have been following this campaign, and active on the margins, start tuning out–from a storytelling point of view, there are simply too many narratives that got stalled and complicated and it’s one thing to have three acts (the structure of, say, a movie) or five acts (a play or a novel), but ten acts and it just becomes a mess, or a soap opera