The Hope-Giver

A man whom I know once told me this story about his wife.

I remember a time when I was sitting on the antique window seat that Helen has treasured through the years. Because the original fabric had worn through, Helen had recently recovered it in a handsome corduroy. A heavy storm was in progress, and I sat staring at the rain pelting down on dead autumn leaves. The gloomy look of the garden seemed to match the mood of hopelessness that had come over me. Problems at work had made me fearful of the future. Basic questions that surface with the coming of middle-age had made me fearful of life itself.

I started to light my pipe and accidentally spilled some hot ash which burned a hole right in the center of the window seatcover. Seeing what had happened, Helen calmly threaded a needle and stitched a beautiful flower over the charred spot. When I looked at the finished work, I realized that it was a striking symbol of our long life together, and my spirits began to soar. I had married a repairer of broken spirits, a healer of wounds, a woman whose very presence was an antidote to fear. Moreover, I understood, perhaps for the very first time, that it was Helen’s deep and abiding trust in God’s goodness that made it possible for her to be a source of light and a harbinger of hope in times of darkness and despair.

Anonymous

January 15 2006