Surprised by hope

                In the last year and a half I have become a sucker for hope. Holding onto hope isn’t something I am naturally gifted in, so having finally begun to learn how to see it, anything the smacks of hope wrenches my heart and steals my breath away. So much grace, that. Sunday afternoon I was given the opportunity to visit the mass grave site where thousands upon thousands of earthquake victims were buried. The drive was hot and dry, the area mostly brown and barren. All of that seemed appropriate for the context. A part of me felt like nothing should ever grow there again, you know? I spent a portion of the drive preparing my heart for what I would find, but as is always the case in this beautiful, contrary country my expectations were nothing compared to the reality of what happened.

 After we arrived and piled out of the van I had a few moments to take in my surroundings, to sit again in my grief about the earthquake. The area was hot and dusty, brown and barren. again, appropriate. Then, as I was standing on the hillside, where thousands were buried below me and looking at mountains that thousands more were buried under I saw something ridiculous. Flowers were blooming on the ground, purple and yellow and totally out of place. All I could think about were fragments of this song, one of my current favorites. The artist talks about the surprise of hope finding a way “through this wasteland of cynics, concrete and pain” and isn’t that Haiti and isn’t it true? Even there, where darkness and pain should reign hope springs through. Two days later and I am still in awe.

(Ten points if you get the title of this entry.)