Rhythm of Hope
Lately, I’ve been working on a series of paintings inspired by a program in South Africa called Rhythm of Hope Outreach — a dance initiative that equips young girls from under-resourced communities with both dance skills and life skills, giving them a tangible future filled with promise.
As I paint some of the students from this program, I find myself painting beyond what I see — sensing their victories, their breakthroughs, and the quiet unfolding of their destinies.
The theme of hope keep bouncing between the canvas and my mind, in pursuit of discovering what hope really means on a deeper level.
The Rhythm of Life
Life has its own rhythm — full of ups and downs, crescendos and quiet pauses.
But how do we make our personal rhythm a rhythm of hope?
Hope is often misunderstood. It’s not just wishing things were different or waiting for the storm to pass. That kind of hope can sometimes pull us away from being present in the here and now.
True hope is something deeper. It’s that still, steady knowing that somehow, even when life doesn’t unfold the way we imagined, we will find our way through.
Author Donna Ashworth expresses it beautifully in her poem Hope Floats:
“Hope rises when everything else is sinking,
hope flies when there are no wings,
and hope drives without an engine.
Hope does not need light or oxygen to survive —
it grows best in the dark, truth be told.
Hope is the belief that the sun will warm again,
that the end need not be the end.
Hope lives in the mud, in the mire, in the barren wasteland of emptiness.
Hope floats, my friends — cling on to it when you are just too tired to swim.”
When Hope Feels Out of Reach
We all know moments when hope feels distant —
when life feels unfair,
when loss comes too soon,
when the light goes out and you can’t find the “log of hope” that’s supposed to keep you afloat.
In those moments, hope often comes through connection — through faith in something greater than ourselves, through love freely given or received, through the quiet reminder that we’re not alone.
Faith, hope, and love are deeply connected.
Hope grows stronger when it’s rooted in faith, and it comes alive through love.
Love awakens hope in two ways:
First, through the love we receive — the kind that meets us exactly where we are, no matter how messy or broken life feels.
And second, through the love we give.
When we reach out to help someone else, hope begins to breathe again — not only in them, but in us.
I see this so clearly in Rhythm of Hope Outreach, where teachers and mentors invest their time, their creativity, and their hearts into the lives of young girls, accepting them just as they are and giving them a vision for a future they can believe in.
A Gentle Encouragement
Hope is often born in the fires of adversity. It clings to possibility when everything else has crumbled. It doesn’t ignore hardship, but it refuses to let pain have the last word.
Hope is not a fragile wish for better days, it’s a quiet trust that life, somehow, is still unfolding toward good.
Our struggles are not wasted; they can shape us into people of depth, compassion, and strength.
