The Tenderness of Hope

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Yes, these feathers were sketched by me. Is this where I’m supposed to put the © 2014 Kristy Dempsey?

Feathers. They’re tender and wispy. Pretty much how I feel about my artistic ability. I can sketch single feathers on a flat surface. (Or suspended in mid-air if you want to pretend that I might be capable of being intentional about that.) That’s it. That’s all I can draw beyond stick figures.

Don’t get me wrong. There is something I LOVE about feathers. They’re like snowflakes, each unique (but so much easier to draw because they’re not all geometrically symmetrical like snowflakes.) You almost can’t mess them up because they don’t have to be perfect. And mine never are.

But I can’t stop sketching them. They represent something to me. Maybe it’s the tenderness of hope that can be lifted by just the breath of a kind word. Maybe it’s their beautiful imperfection. Maybe it’s their reminder of new life, the tiny fuzzy hope that will one day spread its wings and fly.

On this beautiful Easter weekend, this is my offering of hope to you: that wherever you are feeling tender and incapable, may the promise of new life breathe hope beneath the imperfection and give you the faith to believe.

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2 thoughts on “The Tenderness of Hope

  1. Todd

    Beautiful sketches and lovely words.

    “Hope” is the thing with feathers –
    That perches in the soul –
    And sings the tune without the words –
    And never stops – at all –

    And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
    And sore must be the storm –
    That could abash the little Bird
    That kept so many warm –

    I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
    And on the strangest Sea –
    Yet – never – in Extremity,
    It asked a crumb – of me.
    Source: The Poems of Emily Dickinson

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