Hoping Against Hope

In the fog and haze of awaking from sleep, my mind is unfocused, and for a few blissful seconds there are no thoughts of The Thing, the looming thing that elbows its way into my consciousness each morning now. While I awaken to warmth and quiet and lights that work, the people of Ukraine are living in hellish confusion and deprivation, their homes left behind or taken away from them, their families uprooted and facing the prospect of having to navigate life in unfamiliar places, if they’re lucky enough to have been taken in by someone in Poland or elsewhere.

It is always there now, a constant aggravation and ache, and I’m always wondering what will happen next, how far this is going to go, how much things are going to deteriorate, how much of the devious plotting and planning Putin will be able to implement. Such an investment in evil.

People of faith and people who are just at the end of their rope, whether faithful or not, might by now be imploring, “Come, Lord Jesus.” But what are the chances of that happening? We’re always waiting for deliverance. Always fucking waiting.

We can keep praying and hoping, but we best not hold our breath.

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