Who is your hope?

Hope is the name of one of the waitresses at my favorite café. She waits tables with eager determination and a bird-like alertness as she darts around the place making sure everyone is happy and well-fed. She always seems cheerful, with her sing-songy voice and a tendency to call everyone “Honey”.

But one day recently, she confided in me that one of her regulars had gotten the bad news: he has terminal cancer. Every day, he comes in for breakfast, and now he needs more than just eggs and hash browns. He needs a hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on.

“I don’t know why they always find me,” Hope said that day. “It must be my name. I always attract people in desperate situations.”