Two

It's the eve of the eve of our departure.  The past few days have brought me from worry to panic to sadness to anger to... here.

I sat in church yesterday and tears washed my face.  I can't tell you why-  not because its a secret,  but because it was everything and nothing at once.

4 bags of hope are packed to the gills.  Hope that the contents will be received by people who need them.  Hope that I've brought the right things and left the right things.  Hope that the connections will matter more than the things.  Hope that I will come home with a clearer mission/goal/understanding.  Hope.

Hope     

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.