There is a little tepee in my back yard.
My dad built it just about a year ago with sticks and string.
It now has vines meandering up it and
a wind chime that welcomes when the wind blows.
I smile each time I look at it.
It makes me think of love, fun and family.
For someone else in my family, this little tepee is a reminder
of a sad, rough time
and the beginning of a sad, rough year.
For my sister, it makes her think of love lost.
For her, this little teepee is a reminder of the choking tears shed
and of hope held loosely.
It shelters hard emotions and painful moments.
It’s a year later and we are still holding onto hope,
in varying degrees each day.
Tropical storm Irma blew through here
a few days ago.
The wind blew, trees fell, people lost power for days.
Before the storm hit I went out and
took pictures of the tepee
in the event it didn’t survive the powerful wind.
It survived unscathed.
Vines and wind chime intact.
And all I see now is hope.
I am not sure what my sister will see
when I send her a picture of the tepee still standing.
My prayer is that she sees that even though
this represents a place of pain –
that there is room for hope.
That, somehow, a place that has been reserved for grief –
has room to welcome joy.
That in the midst of hurt, somehow there’s healing.
I don’t know how it is possible for a heart to do all of this –
to hold all of this.
Nor do I understand how a tepee can survive powerful winds
and yet trees fall.
But I can see it with my own eyes.
The tepee.
The vine.
The wind chime.
I see hope.
