Hope

If you cut the neck off a sun warmed squash you will find the most delightful little ring of beaded sweat, oozing out into the world, as if glistening or glimmering its story of hope. Hope of what I am not sure, but hope is the right word.

You see, from a seed a plant grows. Then magically, squash fills the void formed in each blossom. Rain from heaven falls and nourishes the swelling fruit under a canopy of giant green sails.

Then a man with a blade decapitates the purity of creation to fuel himself.

But – hope’s song continues - as the juice that originated from the heavens springs forth. These little droplets of translucent fluid whisper a mystery that although we sometimes overlook - yells, screams, even dies to be noticed.

When you are cut, when your soul and spirit divide, I pray the fountains of living water that flow within you spring forth, for there is great mystery in your story.

Your story of hope that originates from the heavens.