The Hope of an Albatross
“Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all.” ― Emily Dickinson
I have been wrestling with this word: Hope. I have found, to my shame, that mine is frail and easily killed. Emily Dickinson paints hope as an internal songbird... a soulbird. That word “perched” seems to imply a poise for flight at any moment. She paints a wilderness and freedom alive amidst beautiful and tangled creation. From this poetic description, hope is without end.
I think I have had such a different, inanimate picture of hope in my mind’s eye.
Have you heard of a hope chest? Traditionally, these were lovely cedar chests; their material chosen specifically to keep stored items safe, and the wood meant to give the items a pleasant aroma, even after a lengthy time. The title, Hope Chest, alluded to hope in marriage. A young girl would accumulate items that one day would be used in her own home. She would be able to enter her marriage, bringing items of value to the building and maintaining of a home for her husband and children. Often mentoring women and matriarchal family would gift family heirlooms and sentimental pieces that were made with love and told a tale of strong, skilled women. This young woman would invest time and energy into creating, receiving, and collecting the linens, dish ware, figurines, and clothing that would represent a happy marriage and happy home that matched the dreams of her young heart. This woman saw her future life and took action to create that life with labors of love and intentional gathering of necessities.
While I believe this is a beautiful tradition that allows a young girl to build into her future and be blessed with the legacy of her family’s women, I am learning that hope is not symbolized well with a hope chest. I don’t think hope is meant to be placed into ideas of the future and stored within “a box for later.” Shouldn’t hope be alive and singing: a soulbird? Moreover, if my hope is set in my future and not something existing in the present, how am I to keep hope alive? What if that future never comes? What happens to the heart of that young girl, if she never gets married? That box would no longer be a symbol of hope but a box of bitterness--an ever present reminder of disappointment.
There is another author who also used a bird image to describe hope:
“Hold fast to dreams, For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird, That cannot fly.” ― Langston Hughes
I agree with Langston Hughes; hope unrequited is grounded, trapped. Without flight, hope cannot soar: it dies.
If I was to be honest, marriage has not been a dream that I have placed in my own “hope chest”. At least that would be a dream of beauty and companionship. No, I have discovered that not only have I been placing useless, so called treasures, in my hope chest, but my actual box of dreams is shockingly miniscule. In searching the wilderness of my own heart, I have unearthed the realization that my hopes have been placed in my own daily expectations.
I hope an interaction will go well.
I hope I will not argue with my family.
I hope I don’t make a fool of myself today.
I hope there is sunshine soon. I hope there is rain to match my mood.
I hope they like me.
I hope I remember what to say.
I hope I am not a failure.
I hope someone loves me. I hope... I hope?
These aren’t hopes! These are all my insecurities that I have invested time into creating, receiving, and collecting as a way to measure my own value, to be built into my future, and to be stored within my “hope chest.” It seems apparent that hope cannot be built on the incontrollable me or you. It cannot find a safe perch on the future. My hope needs a great tree with deep, strong roots. It cannot be placed in the changeable and growing character of others. It cannot land safely on another human being, as frail and flighty as I. My hope needs a tree that can bear all of me... that has born every burden and proved unbending to the task: a tree that endures despite nail or spear. A tree that no wound or scar could kill or destroy. A tree that no passage of time could mar or wither. But that kind of tree does not exist in our world.
According to William Faulkner, “You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore.”
I need to hope in another world entirely. I need to hope in a divine wilderness with an everlasting tree of life, rooted in truth and love. I don’t just want to perch on that tree. I want to be grafted in forever to remain and grow amidst its beautiful tangled branches and vines. Oh, that I would have the courage to hope in this unearthly tree of life. Maybe then, I would know what it is to have a soul with wings and an unending song.
