About a year ago, I was in the hospital, just having survived an infection that almost took my life. When I came to myself, the things I could always do were almost impossible for me. I had a hard time recognizing my family. I couldn’t walk on my own. I couldn’t feed myself. But I was improving slowly.
During one occupational therapy session, the therapist brought large colored blocks. She asked me to choose a block, name its color, and place in the hole it would fit in. I could not name the colors that day.
Needless to say, it frightened me and left me despondent and without much hope. But the therapist persisted, relentlessly pushing me to try harder. That’s what God does when we try to give up on our lives.
Like my therapist, God pushes us gently, insisting that we keep trying, and holding up hope high so we can see it.
Getting back to any sense of normalcy was a long road. I even had to learn to write again, starting with printing my ABC’s over and over again.
Those were dark days for me, but eventually I saw the light of hope and slowly moved toward it. I am grateful for a God, and a therapist, who refused to give up on me. That’s what I call the light of hope.