My Indian horse is a goober. He is powerful to ride with long legs flailing all over when he gallops. He nibbles my boot in the stirrup when we stop and he gets bored. For some reason he brings hope when I feel lost. What is hope?

Hope always believes even when you know there’s no way it will happen.

Hope is walking into the corral with your halter but really you’re going to have to walk out into the pasture with treats to get your horse to come in.

Hope is opening up each letter that comes from a publisher and sliding the paper out willing it to say, “Here is a contract for your book,” and keeping it anyway.

Hope is saying, “I love you” even when you don’t hear it back.

Hope is in every wrapped box under a tree.

Hope is kneeling by a rock for hours because elk showed up there last time.

Hope is waiting for the Fed-Ex man to come.

Hope is born each day before dawn when the stars and moon are still bright and the world is still and resting before you, and the coming day is open to all possibility.

Hope comes in many forms: a positive pregnancy test, a phone all from a sister, an email full of encouragement, a good job interview, a horse ride with a friend, the lights of Christmas, a favorite song on the radio, a dinner date, the smell of popcorn popping, a heifer fat with calf, new wheat sprouting in long rows, an egg in a nest, the sound of a horse wuffling…

Hope cannot be taken from a strong heart—no matter the beatings, the harsh words, the hunger, the loneliness, the fear, the pain or the longing. Hope steals across and over all, like a dense fog and yet lifts the spirit like the sun lifts the blue of a new day.