Hope almost never visits in the middle of the night. Worries and what-ifs toss my sleep and anxiety turns my pillow. This son. That friend. Events to come. Bills I’ve yet to pay. All of life’s little ins and outs become roadblocks and detours. Daytime lists become nighttime litanies, and I’m more apt to judge my own book under the cover of darkness. 

A hope mantra for the middle of night:

Tomorrow, I will begin again.

If I’ve wronged, I will ask for forgiveness.

If I feel lost, I will ask for directions.

If I feel alone, I will seek relationship.

What’s undone, will be achieved. One task at a time.

If the list is long, I will comfort and congratulate myself in the almosts and not-quite-yets.

If I’m tired and overwhelmed, I will rest.

There is possibility in try-again-tomorrows. Hope to be found softly dormant and waiting for daylight. Breathe. Release. Breathe. Release.

And sleep.