Finding Hope

I have a lot of trouble in December, trouble getting up in the morning, trouble working the long hours required to keep the retail sales in positive figures, so that our company thrives, and the 45 other people that I am directly responsible for, who look to me to protect their livelihood, can be assured that there will still be income to support their families in the coming year. It's a lot of pressure, and December is the most difficult of months, it's always dark, the days are short, and there is not a lot of light to spare. In December, the sun is at it's greatest distance from the earth, and I can feel it's remoteness with every passing day.

It makes sense that ancient societies would create a holiday celebrating the return of the light, that in the absence of light, we would wish to beg it to return. In the dimmest of times, we long for warmth, we wish for brightness and clarity, we crave hope. For people of the Christian faith, hope is symbolized in a newborn child, a child born unto us.

Like Marigolds and Neil, I have had a difficult time in the last 7 years, finding anything to hope for. The environment is a mess, world leadership is corrupt, and even though we thought that a changing of the majority in Congress might set things right, there has not been a smidgen of justice. The war drags on, it is today just as criminal as it was 5 years ago, but today people in America face much more urgent matters. It is difficult to get people to care about a war so far away, when right in front of them, debt is drowning them, and foreclosure is just a paycheck away. For many of us, the future is uncertain, we are holding on to solvency by our fingernails. The banks have run out of money to lend us, every economic bubble has already burst, and the Fed keeps lowering interest rates, making saving money every month worth maybe 1.5 percent. And as the American economy goes, so goes the world.

But since I am writing about hope, I want to remind everyone of the birth of a child. It doesn't have to be Jesus, but every child born unto us is a reminder of the future, and obligates us to protect that future. For me, he is not my own child, or a child of Biblical history, but a child born into my own family. Each day he says a new word, every morning he wakes up and smiles at his mother. Sure, he makes a huge mess when he's eating, and I still have not been able to change his diaper, but the future belongs to him, and for him, we must have hope.

There is no alternative.

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