The Taste of Hope

From 5/7/10

Hope tastes sweet but slightly tart, of oranges and summer days when the sun warms my skin and the sound of the waves reminds me that life is bigger, fuller, richer, nicer that that moment.

Hope tastes sweet and pink as I sit on the beach wall, the esplanade, letting the Turkish Delight slowly dissolve on my tongue. And as I remember the story of the Lion who changes everything. Who turns the darkest night, the lost cause, the whole hopeless, messy, disastrous event into the moment of the most happiness. The moment that lets the next one come bursting out, full of delight, joy, happiness, tears and pounding heart that the worst has not happened. Instead newness, dawn, tomorrow.

Hope tastes like prawns on pizza when I realised that it’s okay to have what I want and not just be what he says I should be. Savoury and yet still sweet, full of the joy of choice and the knowledge that this is only the first day, the first step, the first joy in a lifetime that offers so many more days, more tastes, more prawns. More. More. More. More choices of my own making in a life that allows me to be me and know that it’s not selfish and it’s not wrong.

Hope tastes like the coffee he’s made, creamy and light, not sweet but without even a hint of bitterness. His hands don’t shake any more as he pours and hands me the cup, amazingly made. He has such skill now – such ability and he’s fairly bursting out with confidence. Where did that pain-filled lad go? Where did he loose all his anger and angst? How did it flow from his veins and with it wash away the drugs and the years and the stolen dreams? And when did this new boy emerge fully formed and whole? This boy who reminds me to keep going and trust in each child’s ability to grow up and become. To keep going with love and nurture. To keep connecting and talking, listening and being. To keep present and focussed.

I sip my coffee and hold on to the cup as I hold onto the hope it contains.