My Hope...

Hope is a thing with feathers

that perches on the soul...

So begins the beautiful poem written by Emily Dickinson. The words became dear to my mother and gave her much comfort as she struggled in the last days with terminal cancer.

And sings the tune--without the words,

And never stops at all,

Hope...it is a feeling about the future, a feeling of desire and expectation, AND it is also the name of my very own first grandbaby. She was born just a few months before my mother lost her battle with cancer.

The day Hope was born, I was at a conference in Northern California and when I called home to Orange County, I found out her mom had gone into labor. So I hopped the plane and screamed to Hoag Hospital as fast as I could get there. When we arrived at the hospital, the Doctor came out and said it was still going to be a very long time, and told the room full of anxious relatives to go home and come back in the morning. Reluctantly we left the waiting room and headed home and made plans to come back in the morning.

We were on the 55 freeway just about to our house when we got the call she had been born! We made a quick U -turn and screamed back to the hospital. There she was - beautiful and perfect in every way, my very own "Hope" Joy Johnson.

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

Hope's birth was the sweetest event in the most difficult year of my life and just the sound of her name helped to keep me warm. There is something about becoming a grandma for the first time that is just unexplainable. It's very similar to being in love again.

She turns 11 in a few days. Eleven years of HOPE! She is very involved in cheerleading and in a recent competition her team won first place! She's blowing a kiss to the judges. My blessed HOPE. Love you and Happy Birthday!