Member-only story
Not the First Flood. Not the Last Fire.
Even in the middle of all of…this…hope holds fast, again and again and again.
There’s a lot of darkness in the world right now, isn’t there?
It feels like it’s baked into the air some days. You scroll for a second and see it…oceans rising, tempers flaring, truth melting into whatever version sells best. It’s hard to meet a stranger without wondering if they’ll hand you a COVID or a bullet. We are distant from our tribes, lost in the noise, suspicious of each other in the checkout line. It’s bleak, when we are honest about it.
But also this isn’t new. This is how it’s always been, hasn’t it?
Since the first sunrise, there’s been someone hungry while another had plenty. Someone left behind while the rest moved on. Floods, famines, wars, betrayals. Brothers have been killing brothers since the second chapter of humanity’s story. We’ve always been fumbling forward through shadow.
And yet, that’s not the whole story.
The breaking isn’t the most true thing. The ache isn’t the final word. Because while the world has always been cracked, it’s also always been healing. Always. The light has always been working its way back in to make all things new.
