An open letter to hold to hope - no matter how small

  

To you who can't see the light in your dark: 

Don't leave. Please. Don't leave. 

For your family: who would always ask why. Because they will miss you. You're not a burden. Even if they're supporting you due to a lost job. Even if they left you due to a divorce. Someone still loves you - an aunt, a cousin, a niece or nephew. Even if they left this earth. Others will fill the pain you feel of missing them. 

For your friends: Even if you think they're too busy to talk to you - they are still thinking about you, praying about you, wishing you well. They want you to call and ask for help. They will do what they can - even if they're busy with life. 

For your future: You don't know what the next second will bring. Maybe your roommate will knock on the door to hang out. Maybe your children will knock on the basement door to play with you. The next morning might bring a beautiful sunrise. The next day might bring a job offer. 

For your Creator: He made your heart - an intricate pump that hasn't stopped beating from the time it was formed in utero. Who gives you grace to live each day with whatever disability you face. Who has felt physical pain and abandonment when He died on the Cross. For all of us. 

I almost gave up. Many times. I almost didn't graduate from high school. I almost didn't go to college. I almost didn't get my degree. I almost didn't live long enough to have a boyfriend that would propose to me. 

I felt pain. I felt tired of my disability. I felt tired of being a burden. I felt alone. I felt like no one would care if I was gone. I felt like if I ended it all, I would be free. 

That moment of utter helplessness and aloneness would've stolen countless sunrises, hikes in the mountains, hugs from friends, chances for me to help others, a chance to see God comfort me here on this earth. I know I will feel pain again. We all will. 

But we also can see hope - we must see hope. Even for a second, if you cling to hope for one second, you can hold on for another. Then a minute. Then for the rest of the night. Then your hope can be renewed as the sun comes up, as you see others who know you: friends, family, the barista at the Starbucks you go to, the same driver on the bus. 

You are wanted. By your Creator. He can give you hope. Don't be afraid to ask. He understands pain. Don't be afraid to cry. Call your friends or text. They will talk to you or think of you until they can connect with you again. 

Don't leave. Because when you find hope, you can one day extend it to those caught in the darkness.