Take Heart

Christ once said,

Take heart. I have overcome the world.

Which is a bold thing to say

considering the world, and all its sharp edges.

Because the world will take things from you.

People, mostly. Dreams too ... quietly, when you aren’t looking.

It will misplace your confidence, misfile your prayers,

and occasionally overdraft your bank account,

just to keep you humble.

You will lose what you thought was solid.

You will trust someone who turns out to be loyal only to themselves.

You will fail at things you were sure you were called to.

You will stand in the kitchen, holding a bill,

wondering how numbers became so personal.

And there will be days when confusion

feels like a fog that has opinions ... thick, persistent,

and oddly committed to staying.

On those days, “Take heart” can sound suspiciously

like a greeting card. Or advice from someone

who has never tried to stretch soup for three meals.

Still, there is this one small thing ...

outside, a bluebird clears its throat and sings like nothing is on fire.

Not a dramatic song. Not a fix-your-life song.

Just a bright, ordinary note that says,

I’m here. Morning is happening again.

It doesn’t explain suffering. It doesn’t solve anything.

It doesn’t even wait for you to be ready.

It sings anyway.

And somehow, that’s enough to remind you of what Christ meant.

Not that the world wouldn’t wound you ...

but that it wouldn’t get the final word.

Not that your losses wouldn’t be real ... but that they wouldn’t be ultimate.

So you listen. You breathe. You take heart -

certainly not the heroic kind, just the kind that keeps you standing.

And for this moment, with your confusion intact

and your questions still whispering, you let the bluebird hold the hope.

Because, one thing you know, the world may still be doing what it does best,

but it has already been overcome.