Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God.
And only those who see take off their shoes;
The rest sit around and pluck blackberries.
Hope is rooted in emptiness, in poverty, in a waiting that belongs to the pure in heart. Hopeful silence is patient, thirsty, yet withal dynamic, for it desires to become One with God. In this kind of silence of hope lies our strength.
