Coffee Hope

Most mornings this week I've found myself in Starbucks. How consumerist of me, I know. But I often have an hour or so to kill before a lecture or class, so I grab a coffee and a seat in the local Starbucks by uni. I enjoy sitting by the window, giving me a clear view of the busy street, and the hordes of people unloading from busses looking mostly disgruntled.


I also use this time to read my Bible, although I have time to do so before I leave the house, I find my time is taken up by cereal choosing and my inability to have a clean pair of jeans when I need them. What I have noticed, however, is that my mornings have been, in a word, very hopeful.


I've found this week that I've gathered a new sense of life, and my mornings in a coffee haven have really made me realise the extent to which the human race is graced with the ability to hope. Even in the midst of the drama in the world, earthquakes, killings and increasing political dissension.

Hope is without doubt one of the greatest elements I believe in. I have always clung to the things hope stands for and the things hope can bring. Hope for me, is the resolution in the midst of distress. It's the clinging of heart to light and desperation for revelation. 


Unfortunately selfish decisions, narcissism and belligerence has caused this world, my generation, to brush off hopelessness and indict themselves as their personal saviours. But I don't believe that looking for direction in something as fallible as yourself is a beneficent way of living. It's as though the one who hopes, who believes in the optimism of promise, is the weaker naive person in society. In a culture that emphasises the self so much, how can we blame the stereotype? We've come to the point where let down and disappointment are excessively common features in humanity, yet still, in their profundity, appear to be the greatest shocks to any human. We're afraid to hope, because we know where it might lead us; hurt, disappointment and anger. 


Elementally, we usher in a philosophy of fear, but name it 'dealing with the world' or just 'manning up'. We place ourselves on defence because we fear what the vulnerability of hope could do to us. Do you remember, as a child, always having a brash optimism about things? Hoping in the unknown, believing in the unseen? Children are fearless. They have no comprehension of the fallibilities of human nature yet. Instead of disregarding their dispositions, perhaps we could look to them as models to emulate? I'm not calling for us to lose intelligence and play in sandpits, I'm suggesting a realignment of philosophies, so we can remember what fearless felt like.


Hope, HOPE! is magnificent.


I believe in a living hope, one that I've been granted through the grace of Jesus. But Christian persuasion or not, I think there's a quality to a thought process that ends in optimism. I'm not saying go out into the world believing the sun will always shine and daises will always bloom. Instead I'm calling for a theory of dignity. Dignity in the understanding that things may be melancholic for a while, but there is always something to look forward to. That the mere ability to walk the earth, live in this world, and relate to others is in itself, is a great gift to be appreciated.


This has been my greatest revelation this week. And although I could suggest that the combination of warmth, coffee and the Bible may have caused my sense to reach unusual levels of comfort, and therefore optimism, I don't think that's anything to accuse me of. As I see all the people unload from the busses, I marvel at the countless personalities, life stories, goals, dreams and hopes that walk past me while I sip my flat white. Dissolution is a hard feeling to comprehend when you're confronted with the faces of humanity.


Even on the days when I'd rather lie in bed and hide from the world. I get up. Get dignified. And hope that the end of the day will reward me with something I wasn't expecting. How I hope so. Everyday.