Hope is the Thing with Feathers

We've probably all heard this poem by Emily Dickinson:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

This weekend, some of my family and close friends camped together. I had so many unspoken desires and prayers about this trip as I was planning it. Tonight, though, a friend shared with me a goal of his for this trip,  and it was exactly what had been on my heart. To know that God heard my pleas, and placed that on my friend's heart as well, moves me tremendously. To know that my friends care about me, and to see God actively working in an area of my life I've thought was hopeless, suddenly renews my spirit.

I'm on a high right now-- a high from an amazing trip away from cell phones, computers, homework-- a high from fresh air, shooting stars, and campfires-- a high from God's abounding love and faithfulness.

Hope is the thing with feathers and I've heard it in the chilliest land. Amen.
SDG