“My house sits on about 10-feet elevation so if the storm surge gets up to 12 feet it’s going to be a bit of a problem. If it’s 15 feet I’ll sit on the roof and surf my way into downtown Corpus. But I’m hunkered down. I’ve got food. I’ve got water. If my power goes out I’ll eat what’s in the fridge then eat stuff cold, out of a can. I’m a Boy Scout, so I’m prepared. I can ride this thing out.”(Wade Walker, quoted in “Hurricane Harvey is Scaring Everyone Away But These People,” by Alex Hannaford, Reuters, 08/26/17)
I rarely turn on the television news in the evening as I once did, unwilling to let the constant stream of negative news—violence, shootings, Washington politics, war and the suffering—consume my thoughts and mood. But I followed the news of Hurricane Harvey on Friday and again last night, full of heartache for the many hundreds of people who suffered so much devastation and loss. It will be days yet before the full extent of the damage will be assessed, but despite the losses, people are already coming together to help one another. It’s that, in the midst of such sorrow and suffering, enables people find hope, something we witness again and again in the midst of tragedy and loss.
Hope is something we all need at so many different times in our lives. It plays a major role in our healing, whether from tragedy, loss or serious illness. Siddhartha Mukherjee, physician and author of the Pulitzer Prize winning The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer (2011) defined hope as a “vital organ” in a lecture he delivered nearly three years ago at University of California, San Diego. According to Mukherjee, hope gives cancer patients added life force. Is it any wonder then, that in the world of cancer, loss and suffering, hope might be one of the most powerful medicines we possess?
If a man die, it is because death
has first possessed his imagination.
(William Carlos Williams, in Mukherjee, p.306).
Hope is an expectation that something good can happen in the future—and in the midst of suffering or sorrow, we sometimes forget that hope is there, waiting to be discovered in many different situations in our lives. Anne LaMott’s 2013 book, Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope, and Repair, illustrates how hope exists–even in a world punctuated by vitriolic political discourse, frequent reports of random shootings, car bombs, wars, natural disasters, hunger or life-threatening disease. “Hope is a conversation,” LaMott states. “What allows us to go on and find those small moments of goodness, are to be found in “attention, creation, love, and,” she adds with incomparable wit, “dessert.”
“…those small moments of goodness.” Hope is what we experience in the embrace of neighbors and friends, helping one another in the wake of devastation from hurricanes and tornados. It is present in those acts of unexpected kindness from complete strangers. Red Cross volunteers from the Dakotas, Arizona and many other states are already heading to Texas to offer assistance, and many organizations, like Airbnb, food banks– even diaper banks for those families with infants and toddlers–have already sprang into action, all of these efforts so necessary and vital in re-igniting hope and healing.
Healing, which is sometimes simplified in the way we think of it, is more than medicine and treatments. Healing, in the truest sense of the word, is the process of “becoming whole,” whether from a natural disaster or a cancer diagnosis. It is a multi-faceted process of transformation. There is a strong connection of mind and body in healing, and hope plays a central role. In studies exploring the impact of hope among cancer patients, researchers conclude that hope helps decrease patient anxiety and increase quality of life. Even among the terminally ill, hope is an essential resource. It helps us cope during times of intense physical and psychological distress.
Where can we find hope? It’s present in test results that show a shrinking tumor or promising clinical trials of a new therapy; it’s hope that’s ignited in those unexpected acts of kindness from strangers. Hope resides a child’s delight in finding a tree frog as he explores his own yard, in an infant’s first smile, a young woman offering her seat on the subway to an elderly person, or a bouquet of summer dandelions picked for a mother by her child. Hope waits to be discovered, like in springtime, when determined crocuses poke their heads through snow and ice at winter’s end or the brilliant explosion of color in autumn as mornings turn cool.
I know I sometimes have to stop and remember to look for those small moments of goodness—of hope—when I find my spirits sagging in the frustrations of daily life, human crises, or the constant thrum of divisive political discourse. Hope sometimes seems to get lost. But I can find it if I only stop to notice: a hug from a grandchild, singing together with a random crowd of people at an evening of “Choir! Choir! Choir!” or walking my dog through the park and watching her unflagging hope of catching a squirrel (she never does, but she never gives up either). It’s in these small moments of goodness and delight that reminds me of the resilience of the human spirit, and hope, then,” springs eternal.”
Tomorrow will be beautiful
For tomorrow comes out of the lake.
(“Hope,” by Emanuel Carnevali, in Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1921)
- This week, consider hope. How would you define it if asked?
- When have you felt as if you were losing hope? Why? What changed?
- What helped you regain a sense hope?
- When have you discovered hope in a “small moment of goodness? “Describe it.