How do you spell Hope?

"How do you spell Hope?" my son yells out. He's drafting an email to a friend and can't figure out the spelling. But I think its a good question. It sustains a lot, and the absence of it, breaks a lot.

My neighbor had a housewarming party yesterday, a variety of people were in attendance from the aid community. All ages, backgrounds, nationalities. I start talking to a couple who live in Jerusalem and are telling me stories of inefficient bureaucracy that dominates their life in Israel. They say they feel burnt out on that inefficiency, and they've lived all over the Middle East. I ask how long they've been here and they tell me 3 months. Another young woman arrives at the party and a friend congratulates here on surviving her stay here so far - she's going on 5 months and doesn't think she'll make it until 6. I'm in for another 10 months...is it really that bad?


It makes me feel guilty to say this, but its easy to live in isolation and suspended belief that everything around me is normal. Its just a matter of getting to know places and people, and I'll feel right at home. But around every corner is something new. Something odd, something strange, something that will defy all logic. Realizing that nobody seems to have any power over changing or influencing the situation, it is somehow easier to think it doesn't exist.


My son spells hope by counting the days until we take our Christmas break to the States. Or by promises of a new toy as a part of a bribe for some good behavior. Hope for me is a reconstitution each day of what I believe my purpose should be for the next 24 hours. Sometimes its to get through the day with enough energy not to collapse. Others, its to orchestrate a multi-location circus of logistics among which the actors are continually changing. A day without a surprise, or without a change of plans is very very rare. The feeling of powerless breaks down my hope.