Whole Being: Life Alchemy
Being, Belonging, Becoming
there is much that is fair
The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater. —J.R.R. Tolkien
It seems that in recent years, the new year has become less a beacon of hope and more a reminder of uncertainty. Where once we greeted January with resolutions and optimism, now many brace for bad news, lockdowns, conflict, and the kind of political turbulence that shakes our collective sense of stability. But even in these challenging times, hope remains not just a sentiment but a practice—one that can shift the trajectory of our lives and the world around us.
In the process-relational philosophy that I embrace, each moment is an open field of possibility, a canvas for novelty. What we bring to the moment—hope or despair—shapes what becomes possible. If we approach the future expecting the worst, we limit the potential for something better. Hope is a creative force, as Langston Hughes reminds us:
Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die,
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.
magine encountering someone whose political or religious beliefs seem to oppose your own. The immediate reaction might be to brace for conflict or dismiss them as ignorant. That reaction forecloses possibilities. But what if, instead, we believed in the potential for connection, even amidst disagreement? This does not mean ignoring real divides, but rather seeing beyond binary judgments of "good or bad," "right or wrong." Nuance allows space for relationship and growth. As Anne Frank so poignantly wrote, “In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.”
Even in the darkest moments, glimmers of goodness persist. When tragedy strikes, as it did during the Boston Marathon bombing, comedian Patton Oswald reminded us: "The good outnumber you, and we always will." This is not naïve optimism but a reminder that hope thrives in the cracks where despair tries to take hold.
In my work as a hospice chaplain, I often see hope at its most fragile and profound. What does hope look like when someone is facing death? It is not always about an afterlife, though for many, it might be. Hope wears many names: reincarnation, Heaven, Valhalla, the Summerland, or simply peace. For some, it’s the hope of a legacy carried forward by their children, or the hope of a death without prolonged suffering. Emily Dickinson captures this resilient spirit:
Hope is the thing with feathers,
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.
Victor Frankl, who survived the horrors of the Holocaust, saw hope as essential to survival. He described three powerful sources of hope:
- Relationships, where we live and die in connection with others.
- Faith, a belief in something beyond ourselves.
- Meaning, the understanding that our lives, no matter how small or ordinary, have purpose.
Hope, in its many forms, keeps us moving forward. It prevents us from closing off the possibilities inherent in each new day, each interaction, each year. Without hope, we lock ourselves into despair and limit the creative potential of what could be. With hope, we expand the horizon of what’s possible.
As we step into the new year, let us remember: even in uncertainty, there are 365 days filled with potential. Hope asks us to dream, to act, to imagine a better world. As John Lennon so beautifully wrote:
You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.
I hope someday you’ll join us,
And the world will live as one.
Hope is not a passive waiting; it is an active practice. It is a daily invitation to find connection, meaning, and love, even in the smallest moments. Let us walk into this new year, not with dread, but with the courage to hope—for ourselves, for one another, and for the endless possibilities that lie ahead.
“I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge. That myth is more potent than history. That dreams are more powerful than facts. That hope always triumphs over experience. That laughter is the only cure for grief. And I believe that love is stronger than death.” —Robert Fulghum
The Reverend Dr. Kathleen Rose holds a Doctorate in Clinical Pastoral Psychotherapy and a Master of Divinity. Her areas of focus are thanatology and Process Philosophy. Kathleen is an ordained interfaith minister. She currently works as a board certified healthcare chaplain, and as an Eco Chaplain. Kathleen is also student of Japanese Tea Ceremony through the international Chado Urasenke Tankokai associations of the Urasenke School in Kyoto, Japan. Kathleen Reeves is a published poet, and writer. She is a philosopher and a ponderer