Gagging on Hope

I don't want to hope anymore.  

I want to turn it off. 

But it rises up of its own accord  ~  it tantalizes and appeals, so strong that I can taste it in my mouth. Tears well in my eyes with the strength of it.

It's so much easier not to feel hope, not to think about it, not to give in to it.  So much easier on the heart to press forward, to focus on my full and blessed life, to attend to the needs right in front of me.
But hope won't allow itself to be ignored; it presses in in the quiet, unguarded moments  ~~ in the moment when I am sitting in church, my heart raw and exposed before God ~~  in those moments it comes back.

Hope wells up and won't be shoved down. 

From nowhere, it fills my mind and heart, until I am gagging on it, choking it back, blinking away tears with the effort, bewildered and blinded.

And because it is hope, I waver unsure whether to banish it completely or to allow it in measure, under control, tamped down.

But hope isn't like that.  It's immoderate, brash, a force of its own.  

It won't be shut into a corner or constrained.  It's all or nothing.  

But still I fear its power.  I fear that it will break me.  And so I gag it back.   I refuse to allow it full rein. Like water bursting through a dam, I know it will return eventually.  I know it is irrepressible.  But for now, I tamp it down yet again.  I summon the strength to rein it in and to turn my head and move on with life.