Note to Self: On the nature of Hope

It's a ship, it's a plane, it's...

It is a shipwreck. Pieces are strewn about the shore of a lone island far from where I started this journey. Pieces of my ship. Pieces of me. Barely recognizable. So I get angry because I am in pain. Love, tears, effort, prayers went into that ship. And in my pain, in my anger, I want my ship - repaired - now! - and I don't care what you think. You gave me it; you are responsible.

Then you look at the pieces. You pick them up. I start to say, please. I say please a lot, not because it will make anything happen at any rate, but because I have nothing else to say.

Please.

You say little. You start sorting. That piece - no good - chuck it. That piece - ah yes, remember this? Such a pain, this one, but look how good it is now. We'll keep it. You keep going at that. Every piece means something, yes. But some, no matter how lovely or how treasured, may need to go. It occurs to me then you are not repairing my ship; you are building a new one. Why? I just want my ship. This sucks. This hurts.

But then I see you discarding essentials! I thought every ship needs an anchor? I'm confused now. And I'm still attached to my old ship anyway that this is a bit too much to bear.

You are skillful though, that I will say. You know what you're doing. In fact, you are a master. Your hands are inspired. I have no idea still what you are building - it looks like nothing I've ever seen. But you. You are a joy to watch, even if I don't understand.

And perhaps you are building something else entirely. Something different - it could be a yacht? No - a submarine. No - a house?!

Does it matter? I guess not.

So I wait. I wait in earnest expectation for my broken ship to turn into something else in your masterful hands. Do your thing. Go ahead.

Please.