When I first walked into the rooms of recovery in February of 1985, I was terrified.
I found myself sitting in a room with about 80 people. It happened to be a medallion meeting where people were celebrating milestones in sobriety.
As I looked around the room, I felt completely alone. I was scared. Ashamed.
Hugely disappointed in myself.
I felt like a complete failure.
I couldn’t imagine getting through one week without a drink, let alone a lifetime.
As the meeting began, people walked to the front of the room to receive medallions for one year… five years… ten years… twenty years. I was crushed. I couldn’t dare to think that could be me one day.
Then the final couple was called.
Their names were Fred and Hope.
They were celebrating 33 years of sobriety.
That’s when the tears began to stream down my face.
I remember thinking, Maybe this is a sign that I can have Hope too.
I’ve always believed that a Guardian Angel had helped guide me into those rooms.
Shortly after that, I decided to call my Guardian Angel “Hope.”
That tiny spark of hope was enough to carry me into another day. And she never stops showing up for me.
One day became another. Days became months.
At about 10 months, I met a man named Paul, and he planted that mustard seed in my heart.
He told me to have faith. (You can read that story here.)
I didn’t realize it then, but my life was already beginning to change in ways I couldn’t yet see.
Two weeks ago, I shared that mustard seed story on LinkedIn and to my surprise, it reached well over 100,000 people around the world!
As I read hundreds of comments, I noticed something.
People were responding to love and wishing me a happy anniversary, yes, but they were also responding to hope.
Hope that there is more than difficulty in life.
Hope has a remarkable way of doing that.
It doesn’t erase pain.
It doesn’t eliminate uncertainty.
But it whispers, “Keep going.”
As leaders, parents, coaches, friends, and neighbors, we often think our role is to have the right answers.
I’m beginning to think something else may be even more important.
Offer Hope.
Sometimes we do that with our words.
Sometimes by listening.
Sometimes simply by living a life that quietly says,
“If it’s possible for me, maybe it’s possible for you too.”
The world feels divided in so many ways right now.
There is plenty of criticism.
Plenty of fear.
Plenty of reasons to lose heart.
But there will never be too much hope.
Be hopeful that love can find us when we least expect it.
Hopeful that even after loss, life can still hold beauty.
This week I’ve been thinking about two dear friends.
One is preparing for another major surgery after surviving cancer. Yet she recently celebrated 21 years of sobriety and has a loving husband by her side. She has every reason to be discouraged, yet she chooses hope.
Another is caring for her husband as Alzheimer’s slowly steals pieces of the man she loves. Just three months ago, she also lost her brother in a tragic accident. The grief is unimaginable. And yet she continues putting one foot in front of the other, supported by a circle of women who refuse to let her walk alone.
Hope doesn’t deny reality.
Hope acknowledges reality and whispers,
“There is still a way forward.”
I’ve learned that hope rarely arrives all at once.
It comes one conversation at a time.
One friend at a time.
One prayer at a time.
One meeting at a time.
One tiny bit of faith at a time.
If you’re walking through a difficult season right now, please don’t give up.
You don’t have to see the whole path.
You only have to believe that another step is possible.
Sometimes that’s all hope asks of us.
Love,
Maureen
