Hope: May we all diligently seek it.

It has been a heavy couple of weeks for me. It has been a heavy couple of weeks for most of us. We've seen recorded videos of murders and assassinations on our computer screens, like that is something normal that happens. We have read about more school shootings. We have seen the political warfare that ensues with each of these events and the continued dehumanization of each other.

It's hard to see. We weren't created to ingest these kinds of stories at all, much less to ingest them with the kind of frequency that we have been taking them in.

On a more personal level, one of my best friends passed away from brain cancer a week ago. His funeral is coming up, and I've been constantly racking my brain to find new ways to honor him and keep his memory alive with the way I live my life.

These things are traumatic, and they are devastating. I have had to constantly battle looming feelings that there is no reason to continue forward - that things will get progressively worse no matter what actions I take.

It's a debilitating feeling, honestly. This ever-looming presence of despair swirls around my brain. I have knots in my chest, painful reminders that I am powerless in a world with an increasing amount of evil surfacing. My wandering thoughts have served as stark reminders that I am not in control of anything, but rather, am forced to react as everything happens around me.

This has been hard. I have felt hopeless.

This morning, my wife and I felt it prudent to talk to our kids about the events of the week before they head off to school. We had no intention or desire to share any political views with them, or to give them too many details, but we wanted to make sure they heard from us that something had happened, just in case someone else at school was talking about it.

We talked about kindness. We talked about love. We talked about using service as a response to heartache. We talked about ripples and how one rock can't cause a lake to flood, but it can create ripples of change, and related each of them and their impact to a rock in our lake of life. We said all the things that I have always believed we say in times like this, but the words felt hollow as they left my lips. It didn't seem like it mattered or was making a difference.

After the conversation finished, my youngest son stuck around for a little while longer. I gave him a hug and told him that I loved him. I looked at his eyes and told him how proud I am to be his dad, and how much potential for good he carries with him.

He looked back at me and silently stared for 10-15 seconds. Then he said, "Dad, I really love you."

He gave me a hug and I couldn't let go. We stood there, each of us wearing our backpacks and ready to start our respective days of work and school, and we hugged for a long time. I don't know how long.

In the midst of that embrace, I felt a familiar feeling that has carried me through so many heavy things in my life. I felt a familiar force that had pulled so much weight off my shoulders in the past.

I felt hope.

In 1995, actor Christopher Reeve suffered a traumatic injury after an equestrian accident. The Superman actor had ridden horses for years, but his horse reacted in a way that he was unable to prepare for. When the horse abruptly stopped, Reeve fell over the head of the horse with his hands still wrapped up in the reins. He shattered two vertebrae in his back when he hit the ground, an injury that left him paralyzed from the neck down. He lost the ability to breathe on his own and needed a ventilator.

After several days in the ICU, Reeve was able to regain consciousness. Though he had no recollection of his accident, he felt despair when he learned of the severity of the things that had happened. He later recalled that he looked at his wife, Dana, in the hospital and mouthed the phrase, "Maybe we should let me go."

He documented Dana's response in his book.

"I will support whatever you want to do, because this is your life and your decision. But I want you to know that I'll be with you for the long haul, no matter what. You're still you. And I love you."

Reeve decided to live. He fought. He spent months in rehab, having to learn how to use a 'sip-and-puff' wheelchair to move. He underwent experimental surgeries to try and find a better quality of life. Throughout the rest of his life, Reeve battled hard and fought, and inspired millions along the way.

In one of his books, "Nothing Is Impossible", Reeve talked about hope and the power that it had for him during his recovery.

"When the unthinkable happens, the lighthouse is hope. Once we find it, we must cling to it with absolute determination... When we have hope, we discover powers within ourselves we may have never known - the power to make sacrifices, to ensure, to heal, and to love. Once we choose hope, everything is possible. We are all on this sea together. But the lighthouse is always there, ready to show us the way home."

The 'Dad, I really love you," and the extended embrace from my son today were the glimmers of light that I needed to see from my lighthouse today. I'm still sailing on the tumultuous waters of the sea, but I do see the hopeful light that is guiding me home.

So, what am I hoping for?

I'm hoping that I can appropriately honor my friend, Dusty Litster, and keep his spirit alive forever. Dusty was a remarkable human being and a catalyst for good. He left his own ripples on the lake of life because of the way he chose to be hopeful and helpful to others. I hope I can be more like him, and I hope I can inspire as he did.

I hope we can see people as humans again. It's hard to see how that happens, but I really hope we do. People are amazing, and though there is an ever-increasing number of people doing evil things, I continue to hope that the majority of people are good. We have to find a way to draw that good out of people and use that good to overcome the bad, but I am hopeful that we can. There is too much good in the world to be completely drowned out by evil.

I hope we can love. I am a God-fearing man with a devout belief in Jesus Christ. He taught us all to love our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us. It's hard to do - sometimes it feels impossible to do - but I hope we can try a little harder to love a little more. If we do, I believe we can push hate away. If you can't find the energy to love your enemies today, love those whom you know you love, and then try to love your enemy tomorrow. But don't let hatred or anger stop you from loving. Love someone - anyone. Find that goodness.

I felt hopeful today when I didn't know if I ever would again. And it is my sincere hope that anyone who reads this can find their glimmer of hope from their own personal lighthouse.