It seems to me there are many things in life that must be built up bit by bit, without the pleasure of reassurance, without the swagger of sure progress. These things are hoped for, not certain. I don't mean the pie-in-the-sky kind of wishes, but the hopes that must be fed over time by little faithful actions and trusting deposits of love and time.
Like teaching a child to read. Hours upon hours learning letter sounds, picking away at words on the sofa, encouraging, smiling, celebrating the little victories, while holding out hope inside for the moment when he reads ordinary books for fun, all on his own.
Like making a scrap quilt. Pressing and trimming and joining and measuring, stuffing that sinking feeling that it may disappoint, trying not to notice just how slow it goes, while holding out hope that the seed idea will miraculously appear in the cloth someday soon and become a quilt used and loved.
Like trying to get pregnant. Taking those prenatals day after day, carefully charting temperatures (amongst other things, ahem), adding more supplements, watching one's diet just in case, trying not to obsess, wanting to make smart choices, while holding out hope that someday that darn test will be positive and a sweeter journey will begin.
And then it comes. Maybe it's magic? Maybe it's critical mass? All those deposits weren't for nothing, even if you couldn't see progress along the way. Whatever did it you'll never know, but the important thing is it arrives. That's all that matters.
No I'm not pregnant... yet, but I am inspired today by the way this quilt took me by surprise, reaching a scrappy critical mass that turned it from "maybe" to "exactly" so satisfyingly.
Hope. Faith. Little faithful actions and trusting deposits of love and time....