Still Hope

If the smile of a child can still warm your heart, then you still have hope,
If you watch a movie, hoping for a happy ending, then you still have hope,
If you can find pleasure in the dance of a butterfly, then you still have hope.

If the rain breaking on a roof top can lull you to sleep, then you still have hope,
If the sight of a rainbow causes you to stare in wonder, then you still have hope,
If you ever whisper "Star light, star bright..." to yourself, then you still have hope.

If you can see the good in other people, then you still have hope.
If you can give people the benefit of the doubt, then you still have hope,
If the suffering of others still brings you pain, then you still have hope.

If you can offer your hand in friendship, then you still have hope,
If you refuse to let a friendship die, then you still have hope,
If you accept that a friendship must end, then you still have hope.

If, when told everything is futile and hope is all but lost,
You can begin your next sentence with, "Yes, but..."
Then you still have hope.

Hope bends and twists and hides, but rarely does it break.
Hope can sustain us when nothing else can.
It gives us reason to continue and courage to move ahead
When we tell ourselves we'd rather give up and give in.

When our eyes, clouded with tears, cannot see the path, hope directs us to it.
When our hearts, heavy with sadness, cannot manage alone, hope lifts us up.
When our souls are confused and lack direction, hope moves us to act.

Even the smallest hope can bring light into the darkest of places.-- Author Unknown

The Past Whispers

by Nancy Brister



On some misty morning, when the earth is hushed and still,
When the fog obscures the treetops and hides both lake and rill,
Go reverently and quietly, and listen for the sounds;
You'll see the past, and hear it, when the ghosts go on their rounds.

Ghosts don't come in sunlight, they don't come in blinding storm;
They gather in the silver light, when mist brings in the morn.
They move cautiously and slowly, to make the moment last,
Entertaining all who listen with whispers of the past.

They talk of things that used to be, as they move along their way,
And, all too soon, they disappear, as mist turns into day.
You can watch in silent wonder, as their lines begin to form;
You can hear them - if you listen - on some shrouded misty morn.


Years ago, I visited a Civil War battlefield with my parents.  It was an extremely cold
December day and not many other souls were braving the weather.  A park guide
took a special interest in us and guide us he did.  I don't believe we missed a monument
or he missed a moment of action in the re-telling of the tale.  Long before we were finished, I
was pretty sure I'd developed permanent frostbite damage.  But, even under the circumstances
and despite my young age, the guide's story and the way he brought it to life enthralled me.
The frosty air was still and not even a bird could be heard as a backdrop.  My mother
commented on the silence and how difficult it was to imagine such a battle in the
peaceful surroundings.  "Ah," the guide said, "when it's quiet, that's when you can
hear the past whispering to you."  I know exactly what he meant.