Hope by Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Father, you have poured hope into me, and that is just the beginning. I don’t see the dawn, but I know it’s coming. Thank you for the peace granted to me. Thank you for making me sleep for 8.5 hours when I was overcome by anxiety and work and did just need to sleep. Thank you for the truth-speakers in my life. Thank you for forgiving me on a daily basis for things I mess up. I love you. Please stay with me.