, and remembered it vaguely and fondly from high school. So I have been listening to these sad, charming, broken and funny thoughts from beyond the grave by the citizens of the fictitious Spoon River, Illinois. Funny how one's perspective changes as one gets older. I am still finding Master's voice charming and poignant in places, heart-breaking in others. But so much is so sad and without hope. It is causing me to ponder the brokenness of the world around us, and wonder how those who do not have eternal hopes make sense out of this life. The Spoon River portrayed by Masters's beautiful words is populated by folks who lived complicated, and messy lives. But most of them died without hope.
The truth is that hope cannot come just from my feelings, my aspirations, my tugging hard enough on my own boot straps. That sort of hope leaves you in the grave mouldering in the end, and often exhausted before that. Hope has to be found in something more permanent, more good, more grace-filled than me.
Last fall, as Dave and I walked through a graveyard on Maryland's Eastern Shore, along the Chesapeake Bay, I was struck by the tombstone pictured above. Its epitaph reads simply, "Death is swallowed up in victory". Now that is hope. May you be living hope-filled lives today, Gentle Readers. And if you are not, drop me a line, and let me explain where I have found Hope.
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