Hope is like that

My younger sister has always been frightened of things. Nothing in any way unusual, just the normal childhood fears. Thunder, lightning, fireworks, wasps, spiders, creepy crawlies in general and snakes. As she's grown the list has lengthened to include heights and anything that might endanger her children. She is still the bravest person I've ever known, a fierce lioness in the protection of her cubs, but with the gentlest of natures in loving and nurturing them.

When we were small Kath really hated thunder storms, and the flash of lightning in particular. For some reason nearly all of my childhood memories of these storms are of the ones that happened at night time. Perhaps that's because at the first sign of distant rumbling she would scoot across our bedroom and crawl under the blankets with me. I would then turn on my little torch flashlight for her to see. Already frightened by storm sounds the dark spooked her, so we'd hunker down and watch the bulb fiz and crackle in the night. Small low voltage light bulbs did that sort of thing back then.

Anyway, I would wait until I thought she'd dropped off to sleep before turning off the torch to save the batteries. Sometimes the click would re-awaken her because on some level she was attuned to this noise despite the background of crashes and rumbles. So I'd switch it back on, and wait her out again. However dim the remaining light was as the battery faded that little light never failed to bring some measure of comfort to her. I like to think my presence helped a bit as well though.

It's funny though isn't it? What light does in the darkness I mean. Even the tiniest candle flame can be seen in the night from miles away in clear conditions. Such is the power of light against the immensity of even the deepest darkness. In fact it is this contrast that makes light such a beacon in the gloom. Little wonder then that light is synonymous with hope. Where faith might falter or even fail, some small element of hope remains.

Earlier today I was writing to a dear friend of mine. Someone who keeps reminding me of the steadfastness of hope and friendship in hard times. I was trying to find some way of conveying to her where I am just now, which is in a far better place than even a few days ago. I can now see the light at the end of the tunnel, it's there ... and while it might still be some miles off, it's there. Hope is like that.


  1. jos, i don't know what to say quite yet. i don't want to sound overly excited about the significance of seeing the light, but reading this makes me happy for you and your journey.

    i owe you a few comments still, but please know it's all good. all of it, even the very hard parts, because that light really does illuminate everything good.

    love you jos,

  2. I have said it all in my emails dear Jos, but I will say this again, I love you. So glad you are on the up swing. xoxo

  3. Dear Jos,
    This post IS a light - burning ever so stronger than before. I feel hope returning to you - and this is a beautiful thing!

    As for the story of you and your sister...it's wonderful - so vivid, I could really see the two of you, the lightning, the flicker of the small light.... bringing reassurance and courage.

    YOU are your light....and though you may have days where it flickers and threatens to fade out - it will not! Trust in yourself.....and trust in your Blogging Family. I mean it when I say we are here for you. (I speak from experience, my friend..)

    Sending you love, courage and....LIGHT!


    ♥ Robin ♥

  4. Yes Citrus...it only takes a flicker for hope to build a fire. So glad of this progress. Loved this story of your sister. I have similar memories of my brothers huddled in my bed, but the storm was inside the house, the thunderous words, and the lighting of strikes. You were a comfort to her, of this I am sure. You are a comfort to me.

  5. i love that wine and words calls you citrus. it warms my heart and makes me smile

  6. dear jos,
    i came to offer you a ♥ tutorial, after i read your comment at kj's, but now i would like to leave some for you ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ :)
    if your ever in the mood you can come to my place to learn how to make them too. (look on my sidebar).
    take good care,
    ♥ lori

  7. Hugging you. I am hugging you right now. Bet you didn't know that, but I am. In celebration.

    This was a wonderful write, Jos. And to think of the comfort of the two of you beneath the blankets together. Skin to skin. Light in the distance.

    much love

  8. your story is the optimum of hope. and i can just see your little bodies huddled under the blanket, giving each other comfort and warmth, as sisters should...