Dear friend: Hope is a delicate, hearty seed

a short story of disappointment, making collage art and embodied hope.

Dear friend,

I wanted to share about a recent struggle that I wonder if you’ll relate to.

It was all I could do to show up to the Zoom call for my spiritual direction group, Table of the Beloved and leave my camera off, eyes red-rimmed from the recent bout of tears. I had been looking forward to slowing down and doing art, led by Kris Camealy and praying with others across the miles, and the disappointment of how little I had when I got there was almost more than I could handle. Mothering had required almost my whole tank by the end of the morning, and the culminating effect of this costly season felt like it caught up to me that day. It felt so disheartening to come limping into a space I'd imagined coming to with anticipation.

But I came, and listened and let the way others showed up buoy me. I flipped through the magazines and let the color blue speak to me. Perhaps it was the color of my heart that day. I didn't hurry myself but let my collage be unfinished, holding onto the phrase "take the hopeful step" that felt embodied even as I was in that space.

I don't have to feel hopeful. I just have to put my foot out and take that next step, towards hope.

I returned to the piece later, feeling drawn to add the empty packet of some of my favorite flowers, noticing that they "will do well in shady locations." Isn't that what hope is? Something we plant in the shade, dreaming that something good will grow.

I love the last phrase that came out of this slow art. "Let love blossom." It feels like an invitation to trust that not everything depends on me. In a season where a lot does depend on me, to remember that love wants to grow, that I'm just responsible for showing up with what I have is a gift. I can trust that goodness and love will grow out of my hopeful planting of seeds.

Hope is a delicate, hearty seed
to be planted in the shade;
in fact, it prefers a little darkness
to burst forth in all its glory,
meant to line the beds and borders
of my one beautiful life.

I don't have to feel the hope
to plant it deep,
to trust that it is not in vain,
to release control,
waiting for love to blossom,
remembering it wants to grow.

Dear friend, I'd love to hear from you. Feel free to just hit "reply" to this email. I read and savor every email that comes my way, even if I don’t always have the space to respond (which is often these days.) I’d be so glad to know what it means for you to hope and if my words brought up anything to the surface of your heart today.

Warmly,

Alison

PS. I’m so glad to write you this letter for free. It is a joy to do so. It is such a gift for you to be here, and I don’t need more thanks than that. But if you find my words helpful and would like to support me even more, here are a few ways to do so:

• Buy me a coffee.

• Forward this letter to a friend or invite them to sign up to get their own Dear Friend letter here.

• Book me for an Enneagram coaching session.

• Stay tuned for another Dear Friend letter soon!