It has days that we have the impression of
that we arrive in the end of the way. We
look at stops front and we do not glimpse
more exit. It does not have a light in the end
of the tunnel, and it also does not have no
possibility in return. It seems that all our
projects, our objectives, had been taken for
distant good, and we are without possibility
to reach them. He seems same that the
autumn of the existence made with that they
dried our hopes and strong wind of the
winter swept of ours hands all the lulled to
sleep dreams. The death comes and arrebata
the affection of ours soul leaving us the
dilacerado heart. We feel ourselves lost. We
do not know that route to take. We are
astonished. We feel ourselves as a dry tree,
without leves, brightness, reason to live. It is
the hopelessness. Suddenly, as it happens
with the nature, the dumb spring all the
landscape. The dry trees full themselves of
green sprouts, and soon leves and flowers
are covered of. The acinzentado tone yields
place to the green colors of tonalities a
thousand. It is the hope. The expensive
beings, who had preceded in them in trip of
return to the Native Spiritual, one day will be
again next to ours saudosos hearts, in one I
hug of affection and affection. Everything in
the nature comes back to smile. Relva green
is embroidered of varied flowers of shades,
the butterflies bailam in air, birds offer them
with its symphonies harmonious. Everything is
life. Thus, when the flame of the hope it
relights in our soul, our dreams desfeitos are
substituted by other yearnings. Our
objectives if modify and the enthusiasm in
them invades the soul. Jesus, the Sublime
Galileu, spoke to us of hope in the Sermon of
the Mountain, with soft I sing of the wells-
being. Exemplificou it in said and made Its. At
last, all Its message is of hope. If we will be
visited by any dissabor and the desperation
taking in them by assault, let us search
nossoAmigo Bigger, Jesus, through conjunct.
Premaking use us for prece, the aid will
certainly arrive, as soft balsam to penetrate
in staple fibres closest of our being, giving in
the alento and tranquilidade. If the
hopelessness to acercar itself of us, let us
remember the Celestial Friend saying in them:
Mine pack is light, my yoke is soft. If Its yoke
is soft, why not It we accept? If Its pack is
light why not It we lead? Let us consider that
the severity of the winter can to be the
result of our lack of care, submitting us it the
yoke of the lie, of desmedida ambition, of the
pessimism, of complaints without end… Or
perhaps the hopelessness results of ours
proper foolishness, loading weighed the pack
dosprazeres inferior, of the pride, of egoism, of
the greed, the vices of all order, and others
as many useless packs that in them they
overload the shoulders changing back in the
forces. Of this form, in any circumstance, let
us leave that the hope in them invades the
soul, confiantesem God, who always in the
ones of new chances to remake ways,
searching our redemption. The hope must be
a constant in our lives. Hope of better days;
hope of superior accomplishments; peace
hope. * * * It is told that one monge that it
lived of beggary, without shelter, was
collected in one grotto for the nocturnal rest
in beautiful bathed moonlight landscape.
Adormeceu, came an outlaw and it stole to it
layer of that if it used as agasalho. The cold
of the dawn despertou it e, giving itself
account of the misfortune, however
fascinated for the clarity of the moon, was
come close to the entrance of the grotto and,
being touched itself with what saw, it
exclamou: How good that the thief did not
steal me the moon! E smiling, set to meditar it.
To despair, never!