Today's thought on hope

Sometimes it's a little hard for me to feel hopeful about my own future when I really contemplate the unfolding of my parents' lives. Their wedding pictures, for example, are the photographic embodiment of a lifetime of hopes and anticipated blessings. No one will argue that over the course of their lives together myriad hopes were fulfilled and that, indeed, countless blessings were dealt. But, mercifully, what was absent from my father's youthful grin and what couldn't have tarnished my mother's glow of elation was the knowledge that thirty years later one would die prematurely, and the other would be stricken with a debilitating disease.

While I myself wait for and anticipate the things that precede and lead up to that wedding day bliss and other lifetime highlights, my resolve grows shaky and I'm forced to consider what I might never receive. Or will receive, but briefly.

One can but trust in God and operate with fearless hope, confident expectation, and the solid faith that is necessary to give us peace no matter what portion is allotted.

Sharks and Minnows OR Courtney's Assistant Voyage

So for the past couple of months, I've been looking for an assistant. I posted the job opening on a number of sites that would theoretically attract the sorts of candidates who would thrive in this work environment. I was shocked at the break down of the applicants: 50% sharks, 45% minnows, 5% solid, appropriately-qualified contenders.

To illustrate my experience:

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Sample Cover Letter A

To who it concerns:

I have great interest in the communications assistnat position with the White House. My acceptional writing and verbal skills make me an ideal canidate who will suite your needs. My attention to details is second to nun and I’m a really, really, really good writer.

Also, I love kids.

Sincerely,

Molly P. Minnow

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Sample Cover Letter B

Dear Ms. Courtney Marie Sanders:

As you can tell from my salutation, I took the time and effort to determine the identity of the individual conducting the initial stage of the hiring process -- you. Not only do I know your name, but I also know that you are the Secretary of the Alexandria Young Republicans, author of a mediocre blog that has been viewed a total of twelve times, and that your last boyfriend was a Batman-loving politico with a predilection for weiner dogs.

This is indicative of my dedication, my resourcefulness, and my ambition.

If you are half as intelligent as you should be to work at your esteemed firm, you will seize the opportunity to meet with me. When granted an interview, I will illuminate for you why I am brilliant, and how in six months time I will stage a successful coup and ascend to the level of Managing Director. Fret not, dear Courtney, I am fully prepared to offer you a handsome promotion in recognition of your greatest professional accomplishment: hiring me.

I look forward to cutting my baby shark teeth on your professional flesh.

Regards,

Heather Hammerhead

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I am happy to report that a candidate from the ten percent pool was selected for the position.

Waiting for true love? Sit back and enjoy the show.

Tristan and Isolde.
Romeo and Juliet.
Antony and Cleopatra.
Ross and Rachel.


Jim and Pam.


I am the sort of creature who is stirred in the most abysmal depths of my being by the prospect of romantic love, or greater still, romantic love that cannot be. If you, too, are moved by such things, then perhaps you quivered with anxiety cum elation last night as a season of magnificently-crafted and excruciating-but-altogether-perfect longing came crashing to a climax in Jim's proclamation of love for Pam in the finale of "The Office." Perhaps you've experienced it yourself: the furtive glances, the reckless laughter, the mingling pheromones -- ah, the thrilling ache of pining for someone. I'm not sure I can think of anything else thats all-at-once so exhilarating and mortifying. As Jim and Pam embraced in that ubiquitously longed-for kiss, I imagined girls squealing and clutching their couch cushions as if goofy-dreamy Jim had uttered those heart-stopping words to them and not Pam. I pictured men everywhere quietly swelling with pride for the good guy. For the brave guy. Pride for the courage and daring that all men must conjure in order to gain one of life's greatest prizes. Love.

So today I will celebrate the idea of love. I will vicariously swoon. I will become theoretically enraptured. I will adore in abstract. And fervently anticipate that life will imitate art. After all, who said a romantic must be hopeless?