When Hope Shows Up in the Morning

I woke up this morning and the first thing I thought was: "I wonder what good thing might happen today."

Which is honestly a little weird for me, because I'm not naturally a morning person, and I definitely don't wake up with positive thoughts very often. Usually it's more like: "Ugh, coffee. Need coffee. Where is the coffee?"

But this morning was different. Maybe it was the way the light was coming through our bedroom window, or the fact that I actually got a decent night's sleep for once, or maybe it was something deeper than that.

Maybe hope really does show up in the morning sometimes.

The Morning I Almost Missed

A few months ago, I was going through one of those seasons where everything felt uncertain. Job searching while trying to hold everything together, kids going through their own stuff, marriage feeling strained by all the external pressure - you know, one of those times when life feels like it's coming at you from all directions.

I was pretty much sleepwalking through my mornings. Get up, make coffee, check emails, try to get the day started without thinking too hard about how overwhelming everything felt.

But one morning, something made me step outside onto our back porch before diving into the day's chaos. Maybe it was the dogs needing to go out, or maybe I just needed air that didn't smell like yesterday's stress.

And there, in our little patch of yard, were these tiny green shoots coming up where I'd thrown some old lettuce seeds weeks earlier. Seeds I'd completely forgotten about. Seeds I honestly didn't think would amount to anything.

But there they were. Growing quietly while I wasn't paying attention. Getting stronger without me managing or controlling or even remembering them.

The Microgreens That Taught Me About Hope

Those little green shoots turned into my obsession with microgreens. Not because I'm suddenly some gardening expert - trust me, I'm not - but because there's something about watching things grow that helps me believe growth is possible.

Every morning now, I check on whatever I'm growing. Radish microgreens, pea shoots, sometimes lettuce. It's become this little ritual that starts my day with evidence that good things can happen while I'm not watching.

Seeds crack open in the dark. Roots reach down while shoots reach up. Life happens in places where it looked like nothing was possible.

And sometimes, when everything in my actual life feels stuck or uncertain or impossible, I need that reminder that growth often happens where we can't see it.

The Lamentations Promise

There's this verse in Lamentations that I've been thinking about a lot lately: "Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."

Lamentations, of all books. The one that's basically a long grief poem about everything falling apart. But right in the middle of all that honest sorrow, there's this declaration that God's compassions are new every morning.

Not recycled from yesterday. Not rationed out carefully so they don't run out. New. Fresh. Available. Every single morning.

I used to think that verse was just pretty poetry, but now I think it might be one of the most practical promises in the Bible. Because we need new mercy every day, don't we? Yesterday's hope doesn't always carry over to today's challenges.

But this morning's hope? That's available right now.

When Hope Feels Impossible

I know there are mornings when hope feels like a luxury you can't afford. When you wake up and the first thought is about the thing you're dreading, or the problem that doesn't have a solution, or the situation that just feels hopeless.

I've had plenty of those mornings. Mornings when getting out of bed felt like an achievement, and the idea of hoping for anything good felt naive or even cruel.

On those mornings, I've learned to look for really small signs of hope. Not big, dramatic changes, but tiny evidences that life is still happening.

The coffee actually tastes good. One of the kids hugs me without being asked. The dog is happy to see me. The microgreens have grown a little overnight. A friend sends a text at exactly the right moment.

Not life-changing things. Just ordinary moments that remind me the world is still turning and good things still happen and I'm still here to experience them.

Hope as a Practice

I think hope might be more like a practice than a feeling. Something we do rather than something that happens to us.

Like checking on the microgreens every morning, even when they don't look like much. Like getting up and making coffee, even when the day ahead feels overwhelming. Like choosing to believe that something good might happen today, even when yesterday was hard.

Hope isn't about pretending everything is fine or denying that real problems exist. It's about staying open to the possibility that this day might hold something good, even if yesterday didn't.

The Unexpected Phone Call

Last Tuesday was one of those practice-hope mornings. I woke up feeling heavy about the job situation, worried about money, generally discouraged about how long everything was taking.

But I made my breakfast anyway. Checked the microgreens anyway. Decided to believe that maybe, just maybe, something good could happen.

And at 10:47 AM, my phone rang with a number I didn't recognize. Normally I let those go to voicemail, but something made me answer.

It was someone calling about a freelance opportunity. Nothing earth-shattering, but work. Real work that could help bridge the gap while we figure out what's next.

The person said they'd been meaning to call for weeks but kept getting busy. They finally called that morning because something reminded them of our conversation from months ago.

I hung up thinking: what if I had given in to the discouragement? What if I had decided hope was pointless and spent the morning wallowing instead of staying open to possibilities?

I might have missed that call entirely.

Morning Mercies Are Real

I don't think that phone call was a coincidence. Not because I think God micromanages our schedules, but because I think hope creates space for good things to find us.

When we're closed off, defeated, convinced that nothing good will happen, we miss opportunities that are right in front of us. We don't notice the friend reaching out, the door opening, the small gift waiting to be received.

But when we practice hope - when we stay open to possibilities even when we don't feel optimistic - we position ourselves to recognize good things when they show up.

The mercy was new that morning. The compassion was fresh. The hope was available, even though I had to choose it instead of feeling it.

What Morning Hope Looks Like

Morning hope isn't about waking up singing and pretending everything is perfect. It's much more practical than that.

It's making breakfast and enjoying coffee even when you don't feel like getting out of bed. It's answering the phone even when you're not in the mood to talk. It's checking on the microgreens even when yesterday's growth seemed too slow.

It's choosing to believe that today might be different than yesterday, even when you have no evidence that it will be.

It's staying open to the possibility that help might come from unexpected places, in unexpected ways, at unexpected times.

The Morning Ritual

Now when I wake up feeling discouraged, I try to remember those microgreens. Seeds that grew in the dark while I wasn't watching. Life that happened while I was busy worrying about whether life was happening.

I enjoy my coffee my husband has waiting. I step outside, even for just a minute. I look for one small thing that's better today than it was yesterday - even if it's just that the sun came up or the dog is happy to see me.

And I try to start the day with that thought I had this morning: "I wonder what good thing might happen today."

Not because I'm sure good things will happen, but because staying curious about possibilities is better than deciding they don't exist.

Hope shows up in the morning, but sometimes we have to look for it. Sometimes we have to choose it. Sometimes we have to practice it until it feels natural again.

But it's there. New every morning. Available. Waiting.

Ready to surprise us in all the ordinary ways that end up changing everything.

What helps you practice hope on difficult mornings? How do you stay open to possibilities when everything feels uncertain? I'd love to hear about your own morning rituals or unexpected moments when hope showed up just when you needed it.