If she hasn't already, I expect that the Troglodytrix will be changing here Facebook status to read something like that she is expecting the worst, but hoping for the best regarding our new president. I, on the other hand, just have low expectations.
Part of the fallout of the campaign is that the hopes of the day are not very appealing--watered down, shallow, hollow, a thin gruel, pick a metaphor--whether they only are tethered loosely to reality, inflate symbolism over substance to a dizzying degree, or are expected to be fulfilled by just a man. All the hopers may be flocking to Washington, but I suspect there is little hope in Mudville tonight. Then again, maybe it's just me.
The trouble then is that this, first, gets in the way of the virtue of true Hope, the desire for heaven, and second, is hard to let go. Julie at Adoro, points to the trouble of the latter in contemplating the rich man's plight:
But there are things I hold in reserve. My own private stash of personal wealth. It's not money. It's not jewelry, or anything else.What makes some of our possessions precious enough that we hold them in reserve is not that they are gems, but that they are ours.
It's my life. I'm still guarding it jealously. Jesus wants it, everything, without reserve, and I'm still screaming, "It's mine!"
This hopelessness is one that I will have to let go, lest I go away sad. Perhaps I can get to be hope-neutral by noon.
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