Hope

 

I was standing on duty Wednesday morning

When one of my 2^nd graders showed me a treasure.

“Look,” she said, displaying a quarter with a playdoh frame.

“It says, ‘Hope.’”

And sure enough,

The quarter said hope.

 

Evidently,

The US Mint has been producing

A series of American Women Quarters

Since 2022.

In a society that increasingly carries plastic instead of cash and change,

Who knew?!

 

The idea was to feature notable women in US History.

According to Wikipedia,

“The women have made

contributions to the United States

in a wide spectrum of accomplishments and fields,

including but not limited to suffrage,

civil rights,

abolition,

government,

humanities,

science,

space,

and arts.

Most of the featured women have been from ethnic minority groups.

 

The Hope quarter recognizes Reverend Dr. Pauli Murray,

A poet, writer, activist, lawyer, Episcopal priest, and a staunch advocate for civil rights, fighting against racial and sex discrimination.

The word hope was chosen from a line in her poem “Dark Testament” that says

Hope is a song in a weary throat.
(I will put part of the larger poem at the end of this note.)

 

I ordered a Hope quarter to use as a sermon illustration yesterday morning.

I had the opportunity to preach at my dad’s church.

I spoke about hope.

 

I left the quarter at home.

But I still spoke about hope.

God’s hope.

And now I have a quarter by which to remember.

 

---

 

Dark Testament: Verse 8 by Pauli Murray

Hope is a crushed stalk
Between clenched fingers
Hope is a bird’s wing
Broken by a stone.
Hope is a word in a tuneless ditty —
A word whispered with the wind,
A dream of forty acres and a mule,
A cabin of one’s own and a moment to rest,
A name and place for one’s children
And children’s children at last . . .
Hope is a song in a weary throat.
Give me a song of hope
And a world where I can sing it.
Give me a song of faith
And a people to believe in it.
Give me a song of kindliness
And a country where I can live it.
Give me a song of hope and love
And a brown girl’s heart to hear it.

I Believe In You

Kindergarteners can be space aliens. Sometimes, I look at them wandering around the room, being super silly, completely happy not doing anything I ask, and I think, “I really hope no one comes into this classroom right now because it looks like I have no control over my classroom.” And, well, sometimes it feels as if I don’t.

That happened this afternoon. As the little aliens pushed all my buttons, I took one deep breath after another, trying everything I knew to do to remain calm and teach proper behavior…until…I exploded. And the true irony of it all? I was trying to teach the students about peace while standing in front of them far from peaceful.

…

Earlier today, a student made and gave me a drawing. It says my name and includes the phrase, “I believe in you,” along with the words hope, love, and light. I imagine that he was taking a cue from a piece of art that I have hanging above my desk, but still…I love his drawing…and I want to believe that when he comes to music class, he feels hope, love, and light, and that I believe in him.
…

I’ve been teaching about MLK, Jr. in preparation for the holiday that’s coming on Monday. At the end of his famous “I Have A Dream” speech, MLK referenced the song, “Free At Last.” He said, “…we will speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands in singing the words of the old Negro spiritual, ‘Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I’m free at last.” Then he figuratively dropped the mic and walked off stage. Five years later, his tombstone was carved with those same words: Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I’m free at last.

…

Friends: There will be times in our lives when we get it right—when we speak words that will be remembered for all of eternity or act in ways that we’re everything we’ve ever wanted to be. But then there will be times when Kindergarten space aliens cross our paths and we can only pray that no one walks in to witness the cacophony.

That’s how life is. It is up and down, push and pull, failure and forgiveness, positive and negative, give and take.

Yet through it all, God is there, offering true peace—extending hope, love, and light—gently whispering, “I believe in you.”

…

Amen.

Come Back

April is National Poetry Month. In honor of this fact, I read some poetry this afternoon. I found a poetry book while weeding out some books over Spring Break.

Three poems jumped out at me, two of which I’ll share tonight.

One:
Comment, by Dorothy Parker
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong;
And I am Marie of Roumania.

Since reading that fun little verse, I’ve learned that Marie of Romania was a real person. And while she seems like a perfectly honorable person in Romanian history—one who even visited the United States—I mostly like this poem because it’s super fun to read dramatically aloud. Try it!

Two:
Come Back Safely, by Sylva Gaboudikan
even to say good-bye
even if it’s the last time
even reluctantly

even to hurt me again
even with the harsh acid
of sarcasm that stings

even with a new kind of pain
even fresh from the embrace
of another. Come back, just come.

I teared up the first time that I read these words. I just did the same as I typed them out.

During his sermon yesterday, Mister Pastor Patrick unknowingly helped me name something that I’ve been trying to name for years. While discussing the relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene, Patrick explained that Jesus was the first person to truly see Mary Magdalene. Jesus saw through Mary’s brokenness and believed in her as the woman that she actually was: a beautiful child of God. No matter what she did—or had done. No matter how lonely she was—or she would become. Jesus saw her and believed in her. He loved her and transformed her. Then he was gone. He was dead. And she was devastated—left with a hole in her heart where love and friendship used to be.

I am very thankful that I’ve not lost many friends to death. But I have lost many friends. When natural time and distance play their part in the losing, I understand the loss. I understand the seasons of life and that people come and go as one progresses along life’s journey. Because of my tremendous capacity to love and remember, I miss these friendships and think of them often. Sometimes I feel as if I have credits rolling through my brain, listening all of the characters from various points of life.

It’s when someone cuts me off that I find myself devastated like Mary. It happens suddenly—possibly after clues of its coming—but suddenly nonetheless. Drastically. A cut. A nail. A figurative death. And then they are gone. Someone who has been a friend—who has seen me and whom I have seen—who has loved me and whom I have loved—who has laughed with me and whose tears I have dried—is gone. And it hurts. And it leaves a hole in my heart. And I grieve from the depths of my being.

For Mary, there was resolve to this deep grief in this life. Jesus returned. He came back and restored her broken heart, offering such deep hope and transformative power that Mary’s life and story would rise above society’s discrimination and be remembered for thousands of years to come.

For me, though, there likely will not be resolve in this life. For whatever reason, friends likely will not return. Restoration likely will not occur. And yet I live with quiet hope and open my arms and heart with unconditional love and forgiveness. “Come back,” my soul prays, “just come.”

Message from a 1st Grader

Believe it or not, I have another 1st grade story to share…

At the beginning of class today, one of my students, A, came directly to my desk instead of going to his seat. When I got up to greet the class, he followed me. After I hugged him and he didn’t go sit down—which is usually what happens when I have a lingerer—I asked if he needed something. He said he wanted to tell me something. I said okay and started to listen but continued monitoring the rest of the class. I often do this, too, because most of the time students want to tell me something completely random—like their uncle’s girlfriend is having a birthday this weekend or their bug bite itches—have me acknowledge them, and then return to their seats.

Since A never said anything—he’s a pretty quiet kid—and the class came in a bit crazy, I quickly started the welcome song for focus. A went to his seat, sang along, completed our entire class welcome routine, but evidently didn’t forget that he wanted to tell me something because he came right back to me the moment we finished our welcome and said, “Can I tell you now?”

Realizing that he really wanted to tell me something but assuming it was something quick, I gave A my full attention. The class quickly slipped back into crazy but I tried my best to focus on A. At first, I had no idea what he was talking about because he was reciting something about his sister. Then I realized that he was sharing a voice-mail message that his mom had left on Sunday night.

“Oh, oh, oh!” I said. “You’re telling me a message that your mom left you! Do you not live with your mom?”

“No,” he said, “she lives in another town. But she called on Sunday night and this is what she said.”

He then proceeded to speak the clearest and most confidently I’d ever heard him speak, quoting his mom’s message verbatim, as if her words were the greatest words he’s ever heard.

She didn’t say anything profound. She wasn’t imparting life wisdom to her children. She had very simply called them, missed them, said that’d try to call back around 6 that night, and told them that she loved them.

Yet her words were absorbed by her 1st grade son’s heart and mind like water is absorbed by a sponge.
And he was so happy.
And he was so proud.
And he was so affected by his mom’s phone call that he had to tell his music teacher about the call four days later.

Friends, take what you will from this story—the importance and power of words, the impact of a phone call, the need for presence, the need for love, the brokenness of family, the reminder that kids crave their parents attention, the challenge to focus your attention on the person in front of you instead of all of the distractions around you. As for me, I’ll take the memory of A’s bright eyes and determined mouth boldly reciting a phone message of hope and I’ll pray that hope, not jaded disappointment, will be the dominant force that pushes him through the 1st grade and beyond.

A Light In Darkness

We didn’t have a teacher’s meeting today.
But I worked late anyway.
Cleaning my room, preparing for tomorrow,
Giving away random gifts.
When I walked into the building at 5:00,
The lights in the hallway were already off and
Some of the doors between buildings were already closed.
As I looked down the dark hallway,
I saw just one light.
Yet that one light literally radiated in the midst of darkness.
Before I could stop myself,
I caught myself thinking:
“That’s what I want my life to be.
A light in darkness.
A place where people are drawn.
A room in which others can clearly see.”

Now, as I write this brief post,
I find myself once again thinking about that light and
expanding the afternoon’s simple prayer:

Dear God,
Let the radiance of your light and love
scatter any gloom in our hearts tonight.
As daylight fills the sky, oh God,
fill each of us with your holy light, and
help us always to follow that light and live in truth.
May our lives mirror your love
whose wisdom has brought us into being,
whose care guides us on our way,
and whose presence restores us.
In you, we are born again as sons and daughters of light.
In you, we have the ability to be witnesses of love in all the world.
In you, we have freedom from desires that belong to darkness.
Fill us with your light.
Fill us with your hope.
Fill us with your peace.
We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
the Prince of Peace and Light of the World,
Now and forever,
Amen.

And amen.

Connections

During my last class on Friday afternoon, one of my students kept giving me a thumbs up. At first, I thought that she was just giving me a thumbs up—as in—“I get it, Ms. Deaton,” or, “You’re doing a great job, Ms. Deaton.” When she kept giving me the thumbs up, though, I started to think, “What if that means something? What if she needs to go to the restroom and she’s trying not to interrupt class?” So I looked at her and asked, “R, are you just giving me a thumbs up or does that mean something?” “It means that I have a connection,” she said. “Oh, okay! Well…what’s your connection?”

“You know what you just read? ‘Cats stayed with cats. Dogs stayed with dogs. Like stayed with like. And that’s just the way that it was.’ That’s segregation,” she connected. “You are exactly right,” I responded, smiling. “And I’ve heard that you guys have been studying about that in class.”

I was proud of that connection. But I was even prouder of the original connection that let me know what she and her grade-mates were studying.

My assistant principal walked into the music hut with her clipboard and computer at the end of what has become one of my difficult classes. The phrases “bouncing off the walls” and “running in circles” could have been coined by the boys in this class. I cringed. Thankfully, the official unannounced observation was for the next class.

Friends: Even though I do nothing different during observations than I do during normal lessons, observations are still no fun. They make me second-guess my every word and action and amplify every student minor offense into major misdemeanor. So when one of my students wandered out of his seat at least 10 times, sometimes telling me things that correlated with the lesson, sometimes not, I began to wonder how my evaluation would be influenced. But then this happened:

“Ms. Deaton. This is just like black people and white people. Black people and white people used to not get along. Just like the cats and dogs didn’t get along.” “You’re exactly right, C. That’s a great connection.”

(Background: We’re working on a program called “The Unity Tree.” In the program, cats and dogs at first hate each other but then learn to get along.)

A few minutes later, I asked C to share his connection with the class. At the moment I asked him, he was distracted by a puzzle on my desk.

(Sidenote: Elementary students are fascinated by 500-1000 piece puzzles.)

But as soon as C heard his name, he stood straight up, faced the class, and clearly and confidently said: “Black people and white people used to not like each other…” (pause) “…until people like Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr. stood up to stop sl--” (pause with intense thinking face that knew that slavery wasn’t the right word but couldn’t think of the right word) “the stuff.” (pause) “That’s just like the cats and dogs in our program didn’t like each other until someone stood up to say that it was wrong.”

I was so proud of C in that moment that I almost burst. And…that momentous connection had occurred during an observation! Score!

Out of his chair ten times or not, C was paying attention and making connections far beyond anything I actually expected…yet somehow always hope.

Friends: We never know when the words that we say or the things that we do will connect with the eyes, ears, and brains upon which they fall. So may we always act in such a way that when they do, we can celebrate with joy and add the connection to our list of things for which to be grateful instead of our list for which to be ashamed. Amen.

Defining Moments: Alaskan Hot Tub Cruise

No. I’ve not been on an Alaskan cruise. But an Alaskan cruise still changed my life. Here’s how:

My best friend, Angela, and our friend Jacqui went on an Alaskan cruise a few years ago. While on that cruise, and while relaxing in a hot tub, Angela met Edi, and now Angela and Edi are married.

Angela and I have known each other for nineteen years. We’ve experienced half of each other’s lives together and shared both joy and sorrow.

Singing together has been one of our greatest joys even though we cannot successfully sing the correct notes of “I Don’t Need Anything But You” from Annie no matter how hard we try—and trying to sing it to Angela’s daughter, Isabelle, today was no exception!

Grieving the loss of Angela’s dad ten years ago and the sudden death of her son, Sam, on Saturday have been our greatest sorrows.

Today, as I sat at Angela’s kitchen table with Edi, I laughed after he said, “You can have that piece of cake, honey.” “Thank you, sweetheart,” I responded, and then we sat and talked.

A little while before that exchange, I sat at that same kitchen table with Isabelle and smiled as she painted my finger nails a very bright pink. She’s two-and-a-half years old and has a newly painted room thanks to the painting efforts of Deanna and Jacqui. She also has a new favorite bath-time activity thanks to Deanna—the bubble beard.

And a little while later, I sat at the kitchen table again and shared a delicious meal with Angela’s family. As I ate, I was overwhelmed by the reality that had Angela and Jacqui not gone on that Alaskan cruise then Angela would not have met Edi; and if Angela and Edi had not met and fallen in love then Isabelle wouldn’t have been born; and if Isabelle wouldn’t have been born then I wouldn’t know an extremely intelligent, full of life little girl; and if I didn’t know Isabelle then I would be sad…

And if I hadn’t known Sam, then I would be sad, too.

As Angela’s uncle said at Sam’s funeral last night, Sam’s death sucks. There are no words to explain it. There is no way to understand it. It is heartbreaking reality that will impact us for the rest of our lives. But so will Sam’s “classic” life that created sweet memories for those of us who had the privilege of holding him, singing to him, loving him, and making him smile…

One of the songs that Angela and I can sing is “Never Saw Blue Like That,” and we’ve done just that many times before. The thing that both of us really like about the song is that it does not resolve at the end. Instead, it leaves the listener hanging—wanting more—and knowing that there is more to come…

For many years, Angela and I refused to call each other “best friend.” Each of us had had bad experiences with “best friends” leaving after the title had been bestowed, so we avoided the title. But somewhere along the way, we decided to stop avoiding the title and to just call it as it was. And I’m so glad we did…because together we now know that while all things do not end as projected, all will be well and that there is beauty yet to come…and it lies in cruises and hot tubs and cake and pet names and newly painted rooms and laughter and pink finger nail polish and bubble beards.

Dear Students...

Dear Students,

I started teaching long before you were born. What I remember most about that first year of teaching is how ignorant I was. I didn’t know how to work with you. I didn’t understand the developmental differences between grade levels, and I didn’t know how to put into practice the things I’d learned in college. But I did my best to figure it out.

I showed up every day and taught as well as I could. Sometimes, as well as I could was a total failure. Sometimes you were bored. Sometimes you were out of control. Sometimes I yelled at you. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Sometimes I went home at the end of the day and cried. Shoot. Sometimes I’d close my door and cry. Teaching is hard. Especially when you, students, act like you don’t care or when you don’t treat your classmates and me with kindness and respect.

But I kept showing up. And I kept trying my best. And, most importantly, I kept loving you. I don’t think I’ve told you I love you. But I do. I love you because you are you. Not because of anything you have done or will do. I love you for you.

As my first year turned to my second, and my second to third, and my third to fourth, all the way up to eight, I became a better teacher. I learned how to work with you and I learned the differences between you as a 1st grader and you as a 5th grader. I had a lot of fun with you and you had a lot of fun with me.

But I’ll tell you a secret, student, I was very sad. On the outside, I was fine. But on the inside I felt very alone. During my eighth year of teaching, one of my friends died and a few of my other friends and I began growing apart. It was all very hard. One thing led to another and I decided that I needed to stop teaching. I needed to learn to be content with myself and I needed to follow a life-long dream of finishing my graduate degree and working in full-time ministry. So I did.

And now, five years later, I’m back with you. I’m back to going to bed and getting up early even though I prefer going to bed and getting up late. I’m back to not being able to run errands or eat out for lunch; to not being able to take naps; and to making considerably less money than my other career. But you know what? I’m happy. I’m happy because I get to spend my days with you.

So the next time you doubt if anyone cares, think about me.

I care about you.
I choose you.
I love you.
I respect you.

Give me a chance.

Together we can do great things.

Love,
Ms. Deaton

Betrayal

Relationships are hard. Family, friend, and work relationships. Romantic and platonic relationships. In-person and long-distance relationships. Relationships are just plain hard…especially when they are met with a betrayal.

I’ve been thinking a lot about betrayal today because today is an event anniversary for me. Today marks a time in my life when I was deeply betrayed and life began to drastically change course.

As I’ve reflected upon this betrayal today and remembered the reversal of, “If you’ve needed a friend to trust, then you’ve chosen the right one,” I’ve noticed my mind wandering to Judas and Jesus.

I’ve considered the story of Jesus’ final meal with his friends and how Judas kissed Jesus before Judas completed his betrayal. Judas handed over Jesus to his enemies with the hope that Jesus would assert his authority on earth. I don’t know that Judas was necessarily trying to hurt Jesus, rather, he was trying, in his own way, to hasten Jesus’ Kingdom. Judas’ plan backfired and led to Jesus’ death, which was horrible. Yet Jesus’ death made way for hope, forgiveness, resurrection, and redemption…and I believe that if Judas had not killed himself before Jesus arose then Jesus would have embraced him with open arms.

I get this.

I wonder if Judas ever told Jesus that if he needed someone to trust then he could trust Judas. Jesus must have seen something in Judas. Jesus must have enjoyed Judas’ presence and believed in his ability to manage money. Jesus must have cared for and loved Judas because that’s what Jesus did with everyone, not to mention those he chose to keep by his side.

I suppose we never enter a relationship predicting betrayal…or if we do, then I think we hold to a deep-seated hope that our fear is wrong. Yet with every relationship we enter,we run the risk of being betrayed…or of being the betrayer.

[I’d be remiss if I didn’t confess that I, too, have been the one to betray or to push persons away from very unhealthy behavior. And for those times in my life and to the persons I have hurt, I am deeply sorry.]

And yet, we keep forming relationships. And we keep opening ourselves to love and living our lives alongside those for whom we care and feeling kisses of both passion and betrayal and finding ourselves faced with the options of hope, forgiveness, resurrection, and redemption.

---------

**“You Came Into My Life” is a song that popped into my head as I drove home today. I wrote it many years ago, but I think it fits this post well. The recording isn’t wonderful, but I posted the lyrics.
http://www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton/songs**

Straw Sharing Laughter

There’s a lot of heavy stuff happening these days and a lot of commentary being written about it all. After three nights/days with the kids after a week at youth camp, though, I’m too tired and unfocused to think about anything serious. And so…I will share a story from camp last week that still makes me laugh.

Wednesday night was senior night. Not being able to find where the rest of the seniors were celebrating, Rebecca took our two seniors to McDonalds. I asked them to bring me an iced mocha so that I could have coffee the next morning.

Because we both woke up late on Thursday, Rebecca and I ended up in the apartment alone. As I was preparing to leave, I opened the refrigerator to get my coffee. I asked Rebecca if they’d gotten me a straw. She said no. Then she said, “You can use my straw if you want to.”

Her used straw was in her used cup on the coffee table in front of the couch on which she had been sleeping.

I said, “Wow, Rebecca. Sharing a straw is a new level of friendship.”

She sang her response: “Sharing a straw is love.”

While she finished getting ready, I finished the song chorus that she’d started:

“Sharing a straw is love,
It’s a special symbol of,
Friendship from above,
Yes, sharing a straw is love.”

Choosing not to accept Rebecca’s straw offer, I walked to breakfast simply carrying my coffee…which was a really good thing because Rebecca and I spent the whole walk singing and laughing. Rebecca would make up a verse about the virtues of sharing a straw and I’d chime in with the chorus.

Neither of us remembers the verses. They were spontaneous, out of Rebecca’s crazy head. But we both remember the chorus, and we claim it as one of our most successful hits.

We made up other songs last week as well. We sang about stripes, ear lobes and parks, plastic baggies, camp, and more. And on Sunday, we sang about my nephew losing his pants and about red shoes stomping. Amelia and my nephews requested a Rebecca/Deanna performance.

Rebecca and I are dangerous together. She brings out the silly in me. I give permission for the silly in her to shine. We feed off of each other’s thoughts and we make each other laugh. Sometimes last week we both laughed so hard that our stomachs hurt, our eyes filled with tears, and the veins in our foreheads poked out.

And the laughter was good.

It was very, very good.

When is the last time you made up a silly song? Lived as if you were in a musical? Laughed so hard that you cried?

With everything that seems to be going wrong in this world, there are so many things going right…the simplest of which is not necessarily straw sharing, but laughter, friendship, and love.

Freedom

Freedom comes at a cost.
Releasing the yoke of slavery does not happen with
Ease. The struggle hurts. Thoughts of Egypt
Erupt in the fight to move forward. The smell of
Death intensifies as casualties fall. Much is sacrificed. More can be gained. But is it worth it?

Once upon a time there were persons not bound by guilt and shame.

May we not lose hope on the journey to live free, for it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.

This Crazy Disease Called Hope

A couple of weeks ago, my parents and I stumbled upon a show on HGTV that actually interested all of us. We watched 7 episodes of “Rehab Addict” that day and saw an entire house renovation. We were fascinated.

Nicole Curtis, the host/designer/renovator of the show, rescues old houses from demolition. Her goal is to restore houses to their original glory, using original flooring, wood, and furniture whenever possible.

She is a dumpster diver. She is a trash-pile picker. She has no shame in the fact that every piece of furniture in her house was rescued from the side of the road or a dumpster. She refurbishes thrown-out tables, dressers, medicine cabinets, bookshelves, and workbenches. She saves old windows, doors, hardwood flooring, and lumber because she knows that most of them can be reused.

She tears down walls, busts up old concrete, pours new concrete, drives the back-hoe, works with landscaping, puts in piping. She does whatever needs to be done and asks a lot of questions along the way. She believes that every opportunity is a learning opportunity.

Nicole Curtis is a single mom. She is a hard-worker who turned her life around by doing odd jobs and taking risks. She is real and down to earth. She makes mistakes and laughs at them. She forgets to get her car oil changed and runs out of gas in her moped. She enjoys spending time with her parents and is proud of her mom for recently going on her first mission trip to Africa.

Tonight, after stumbling upon the show again, I watched as Nicole took old paint to a paint recycling place where they re-use every part of old paint buckets. This is par for the course for her. She likes to partner with organizations that share her values of hope and redemption.

Curious as to who Nicole Curtis is, I googled her. As part of my reading, I scrolled down her Facebook wall and realized that what she portrays on TV isn’t an act. It’s who she is. There is a picture of her weeping after an old house was destroyed by someone who just wanted something new. She did her best to save the house—to honor the past and the beauty that it carries—but demolition won in the end. During the process of trying to save the house, she wrote:

“I was told today that houses are just ‘sticks and mortar’ -and that I get too emotionally vested. My thought is that if we start to care about the ‘sticks and mortar’ and keeping our communities intact -isn't that teaching our children to respect the past and to open their eyes? We might have fancier electronics now, but trust me--we are still facing the same stresses that people did 100 years ago in these houses. Doubt me? Sit and chat with someone that is 90 years old :). Even if you believe me, sit and chat with someone who is 90-it's refreshing and enlightening. Happy Sunday.”

At another time, she also wrote:

“Today--I'm going back at it and it doesn't matter what I am doing: saving old homes,volunteering, playing mom or being an active neighbor. My goal is to spread this crazy disease called Hope that I have (the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best).

What I hope for today is the same as everyday: people to start caring again...

One step at a time...”

Did you read those words? Her hope is that people will start caring again—one step at a time. She hopes that we will sit down and talk with persons who are 90-years-old—persons who are often overlooked yet full of beauty and depth. Nicole Curtis believes in hope. She believes in redemption. And she lives those values in her work. I think it's obvious that I admire that.

I don’t know about you, but my faith is built on hope and redemption. It stands on transforming what’s broken into something that’s whole. It rests on God saving us from the trash-heap and making us into something new. It looks at life and sees possibility. It believes that we may be persecuted but that we are not abandoned.

For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down,but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you. 2 Corinthians 4:6-12

Life is at work within you, friend. Within us. Spreading this crazy disease called hope. One step at a time.