Hopelessness often strikes during recovery from a stroke. We’re told to be aware of hopelessness, to understand the effects of it during the healing of a brain injury, to see it as an enemy of healing and health.
Since mom had her stroke ten days ago, I’ve held on to the words, “There’s always hope.”
Without question hope alters the way life is managed. I envision hope falling out of the skies like Oregon rain. I call mom, my personal hope mentor, waiting to hear her say, “Hello.”
I smile, looking out the window, watching the rain come down as I listen to mom form words. We laugh over nothing and everything, as she talks from her hospital room. She asks me to pray for her blood levels to even out. It’s important to have the right level to prevent clots from forming and to keep the risk from bleeding in check; it’s a precarious balance.
I use the same words she has used all of my life,”I know it will work out.”
Her words have flowed through my life and have become mine. I leave my office, continuing my conversation with mom, soaked with rain before I cross the parking lot. I get into the car and tell mom, “Good-night. I love you.”
I miss the sound of yesterday’s rain coming down on the roof of our little old house this morning. Skies are clear. I settle in with a cup of coffee, opening my Bible, diving into the depth of God’s message for the day:
“And hope will never fail to satisfy our deepest need because the Holy Spirit that was given to us has flooded our hearts with God’s love” (Romans 5:5, The Voice).
Thank you for the flood of Your love and the endless streams of hope. Thank you that no matter what, there’s always hope. Amen.
Hope is pouring down.
From my journal, February 26, 2013.
(Written by Kerrie Carlisle Palmer © 2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED)