I’m not sure when it started.
Maybe it was the year that we bought a piece of property, sold our house, and put everything we owned in storage, as we planned and began building our mountain home. While construction continued we split our time between the old airstream parked on our property, and a string of house-sitting gigs we cobbled together. Needless to say, we’d taken on a lot, let go of even more, life felt untethered, and I often needed reassurance that everything would be ok. As I often do when I am in need of hope that all is well, or at least will be, I would turn to my husband Tom, and after hearing my concerns, he would put his hands on my shoulders, lock eyes with me, and say…
“It’s gonna be ok.”
And I would believe him.
I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s said those same words to me.
“It’s gonna be ok.”
And I believe him.
Anymore, I don’t even have to explain what I’m anxious about. I just tell him that I need him to say it to me. And he does.
“It’s gonna be ok.”
And I believe him.
What I love about this little routine we have together, is that his words are always true. It doesn’t mean that things are always going to work out the way I want, or that there haven’t been and won’t continue to be challenges, heartaches, and difficulties. For me, it means that come what may, we will find our way through. That there is a deep and abiding love that supports and surrounds us, not to save us from trouble, but to travel with us in the midst of it. That in the long run, love and goodness always win.
When it boils down to it, hope is a team sport, and everyone can play. We offer hope to one another, taking turns putting our hands on one another’s shoulders, locking eyes and saying…
“It’s gonna be ok.”
