Heartbeats from Heaven

Heartbeats from Heaven.

Burundi Journey Episode 2.

To know more of the story of our adoption journey, we must return to February 2019. IF Gathering to be exact. It was a moment in time that gave endurance for the next 2.5 years that I did not realize at the time that I would need. IF Gathering is a yearly women’s conference that is hosted in Dallas, TX and brings people from around the world. If you know me well you know I do not do crowds well. Social anxiety and myself have a long history. The first moment I can remember being at the age of 7 and vomiting before running onto the stage as the curtain were opening for one of my first, and I should also mention one of my last ever dance recitals, as I soon discovered gymnastics was more the lane I was to ride in for most of my adolescent life. Anyways, I have long since been terrified of events, anxiety rising with so many people, so many noises, and the always awkward moments I tend to create out of nervous conversation. I say this to first say, if you also struggle with social anxiety, then you are indeed not alone, but also to simply set the scene before you for what is about to transpire and to allow the miracle of it all to be in full effect.

The conference began on a Friday evening, and now we are nearing the end. I thought for sure on my drive towards location that God had whispered upon my heart that something of revelation was going to happen, something profound, something transformational. And yet, to be honest, I felt most of my weekend had been wasted on my anxiety and calming my fears for hours on end.

However, there was this moment in time where everything changed. I remember it as this: a women from IJM is talking about the work they are doing to rescue the vulnerable out of horrific abuse situations around the world. The thought of our adoption, the thought of the unknown of the story that our child would be birthed out of, kind of crumbled in me in that moment. I closed my eyes, tried to think of something else, anything else as I could feel my throat tightening, the room spinning a bit, as the emotions welled up from the tension of the unknown until they simply spilled over. Tears began to fall, then weeping, a deep cry that needed release. A friend beside me placed her hand upon my back, significant because it reminded me that I was okay to feel exactly as I felt in that moment in time. It gave me permission to release anxiety and fully be with all my emotion in that moment. I knew I was not alone. I was not alone to let it all go free. To allow all that was coming to rinse and flow out of me. And then, in what I can only describe as the breath of God, Yahweh Himself completely taking over, I felt as if I was breathing with God. A holy rhythm that felt as natural and yet as divine and miraculous as I could imagine. My breathing became synchronized, and just as with the breath, I then began to feel layered heartbeats beating upon my own. Inhale, Exhale, Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Calm. Rhythmic. Deep. A divine wave upon wave of comforting grace. Then, three hearts, stacked upon my own, beating in perfect union, synced to this holy breath of God. Tha-dump, tha-dump, the-dump. I can only describe it as divine, as radiant, as pure holiness outside of myself in every way, shape and form. And yet, as I deeply understood I was experiencing something far beyond myself, I also had never felt more true and whole to myself as I did in that moment. I was transfixed, caught in the moment and mesmerized within it in every way. The peace that passes all understand? The joy overflowing? The mystery of creation? I felt it all in those few moments of time. Eventually I felt release of breath back to that of my own. I opened my eyes, looked eye to eye with my soul sister, and we gazed deep, no words were needed. Embrace was enough, the comfort of being together was enough. We both felt it. We both experienced the hand of God in that moment. And I knew. I knew God was placing the heartbeats of our future children upon my chest. Giving me a tangible moment, a tangible memory to grasp hold of when circumstances became hard to come up for air. A moment to believe in miracles. A moment to sit in awe at a God so far beyond all that we might be able to ask or imagine. To believe in Yahweh again. To believe all of our hearts, our time, our money we had invested into this adoption journey was not to be wasted. The gift of heartbeats from heaven.

Thursday, November 25, 2020

6:00am- We awoke bright and early, the sounds of cars and people traveling roads to start the journeys of the day. After the exhaustion of the day before we all slept much better than I had anticipated, but still awoke with deep longing for more. Yet, the nerves of our first full day as a family of five, the tenderness and anticipation around the newness of it all struck me in a way in which sleep had no further chance. As the newborn exits the womb with cries, changing forevermore the important things in the world, shifting and redirecting perspective in every way. So too, was the newness felt here. The tender dance around comfort levels and adapting to the role of parent to three certainly had a feeling I had never felt before.

8:30am- After stalling in the room by people watching, learning selfies and discovering headbands, it was eventually time to meet in the hotel lobby for breakfast. And breakfast indeed was to be had. Modeste, our lawyer who was also our main source of hospitality in country ordered tea, fruit, many, many plates of fruit, omelettes, bread, and a chicken broth style soup. It was enough for a royal feast. The fruit in Burundi is always fresh, the tea local and seeping hot, the omelettes made from fresh eggs filled with onions, broth a smooth, creamy nourishment. And try as we might to finish, we left much behind. But we had places to be, for you see, we were about to experience one of the deepest cultural experiences of our entire trip.

10:00am- With the van fully loaded once more we headed to see the Burundian Drummers. In Burundi this is not like a drumline, able to coordinate rhythm and stride. No, this is much more. And not to discount a drumline that we might imagine, but much more-so to highlight the extreme talent and honor that is held here. In Burundi, becoming a drummer is honored to a high esteem. It holds the symbolism of protection, of unity, of perseverance, of storytelling. The Burundian drummers balance drums on their heads, dancing, and drumming in a rhythm quite their own. Jumping in rhythm as they tell the story of Burundi in music and dance.

The experience for us was one I will never forget. We pulled in, immediately becoming the attention of the areas as a van full of “mizungus” or “white people” exited the vehicle. We were welcomed by the leader of the drummers and given a tour of the grounds with an explanation of the history being interpreted for us. Afterwards, we were brought to a small seating area. Small wooden benches had been placed in a line to where we sat with some standing behind. Children perched on trees before us. Their pride parading our far and wide for what is coming. I wonder how har their delight whispered in the wind? I wonder how many times each week they climb these heights for just one more glimpse of the unity, one more remembrance of the country they embrace as home, one more rise and fall of heartbeats synchronized in fullness of joy.

The beat strong, powerful, not only pulsing through ears, but also surging through hearts as the drummers began their entrance through a small opening through the crowd of villagers stranding watch to the side of us. And for about 30 minutes we were taken to another place. A place captivated by the story being told before us, connected to the creativity here, covered by the blanket of beat surrounding us.

In a way I felt distinctly connected to the earth that day. As if my feet, standing there on the other side of the world were as connected there as home. There was a sense of being held in the music, carried by it, just as we are carried by the earth each day. Breath syncing with heartbeat, feet resting upon the red clay ground that has carried Burundi for centuries. Smelling the dust kicked up in the air from the performance. The drumming, Burundi’s own heartbeat coming alive, culture displayed in wonder and awe.

And when it was all over, we cheered and clapped, exiting our enchantment, and thrown back into the arms of gracious hospitality. We bought each of the kids a mini drum, to be able to bring just a piece of this story home with us. To bring a remembrance of the heartbeat home.

12:00pm- After hearts were filled with the joy of Burundi in every way, we began our journey back to Bujumbura, the place of our hotel. Thankful for our large breakfast now, as we were to skip lunch, and have many delays in getting back, such as routes being blocked without notice for government officials in the area, road closures due to broken down vehicles, and gas pumps where military vehicles are served first, no matter what the occasion. But eventually, hours after our projected arrival we did manage to make it back to our hotel in Bujumbura; the first time Theresia gets to witness where we will bond and stay for the next 2.5 weeks. For now, we quickly set down the gatherings of the day, and turn around for a dash to dinner here at the hotel.

7:00pm- Another long day had been laid behind us. A day of exquisite learning, of fumbling through the delays of travel and finding that Theresia LOVES mayonnaise and ketchup. Indeed also, many moments of gratitude for having Shiloh and Thomas with us. I do think it has helped Theresia feel safer with us, but also, it has been an amazingly helpful tool to cross language barrier to show Theresia what is to come. Like a shower. A warm shower at that. I shall never forget that precious smile light up on Theresia’s face when she first felt the warmth of that shower. We have since discovered that water is her favorite and she wants to be in the water as much as possible. But here, this first full day with her, we experienced it for the first time. For the first time, water pellets rushing over her little body and bouncing off to the walls in such delight as she let out a shy giggle and continued to splash the warm water on her face time and time again. Such a tangible reminder of ALL the joys, ALL the miracles we have before us each and every day, if we simply take the time to let them in, to notice them. Today, it was the extraordinary gift of water, clean, fresh, warm water to clean and enjoy, to find radiant laughter and fun!

8:00pm- Bedtime quickly approached shortly after. All the children nuzzled in with me on the large bed and Josh found his place in the small bed beside us. Dozing to the quiet of our dreams rather quickly, yet with a fullness that was hard to describe. But in the moment before sleep took me by its persistence, I pondered on how Theresia had yet to shed a single tear. Rolling away from the orphanage yesterday, smiles and waves. How do you transition from living one life your whole life, then simply transitioning to another in the wake of an afternoon? How do you wrestle the fear down into the dirt while you summon courage into your palm? How do you bare the weight of all the change with a smile and a Burundian head nod? It kind of breaks me in a way. You know, feeling like you have to be so tough through it all. Feeling as if you have to transition this well. But oh how I hope that when the day of crumble comes, I may meet it with patience and love. For how can one soul be so divided and not shed a single tear?

I’ll see you soon then as we continue on this journey together. Thank you for being here for Episode 2!

~ Laura

Miss our previous Episode of our time in Burundi? Here is some easy access for you!

Episode 1. Back to the Beginning: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/2/26/back-to-the-beginning

Back to the Beginning

Back to the Beginning

Where do we even begin? Where do we start to explain the completion of a journey that took nearly half a decade? I think it must begin where all stories begin. With a quiet stirring, a gentle whisper, the feeling that harvest is on the horizon, yet you know that before the harvest the work shall be long and wearisome, the turmoils shall advance like a typhoon, there will be hills to hurdle. And yet, that still small whisper remains, lighting soul aglow with a flame that cannot be extinguished. Launching you into wild courage, not of yourself, yet of the curiosity to follow this deep longing of the soul. This is where it all began 4.5 years ago.

There are many here who I feel do not know the roots of how our adoption story began, and to be able to understand the miracle this journey has truly been, let me begin here. But first, also let me state that a journey of adoption, is simply choosing to say “yes, I am available”. It is not to say “I want this, I have always dreamed of adopting.'“ For how can we long for the trauma, destruction and immense hardship of a child? May it not be so. I wish adoption were not a needed avenue. I wish it never existed, because I wish the harsh reality of death, poverty, mental illness, cultural curses and more did not exist. However, in the world we live, there are all of these things. And occasionally that means there are children left in need. Children without another option, children who need a home through adoption. Let it also be said of me as we begin, that for us, we believe adoption to be the last option. We desire first for a child in this type of need to experience family reunification. If this is not an option our prayer is that the child be placed in the home of another family member willing. If that is not an option, then our hope is for someone in their local community to welcome them in. If this is not an option, then our hope is for them to remain at least within their country of origin. If this is not an option, then we believe in International Adoption with parents who teach , love and come alongside the child’s country of origin. This is where our story lands.

So, back to the beginning. Our adoption journey began shortly after I returned from my second trip to Rwanda in 2016. I began having dreams. Intense, vivid dreams. Each dream was the same. I was walking the streets of Eastern Africa, the red clay rich and wide. Walking upon a hillside, smelling the tea leaves, sweet and fresh, walking with a child holding each hadn't gently and another skipping joyfully ahead. Each time there was a peace like no other. Everything was alive, present, comforting. Until I would awake, at the same place each time, right as we began approaching the top of the hillside. Each time I awoke in a dripping sweat, and for a few moments, groggy and confused I literally would not know where I was. Confused between my location in Eastern Africa or Northwest Indiana. As I came to my senses, there was a feeling of loss. A feeling of missing being within the dream, within this space that felt like my soul was alive, awakened to a courage I so deeply lack in reality. Yet, nervous to let anyone in on these recurring dreams, I let them be just this. A recurring dream. For 5 months they continued at least once a week, many times 2-3 times a week. Eventually I could take it no more. I told Josh (my husband) of my dreams. I let him in on this other world I was experiencing in the darkness of night. I expressed my concern that maybe the Lord was asking us to step into the world of adoption? Whatever it was, I was desperate to confide, desperate to find some reasoning and for a friend to tell me I wasn’t crazy. Josh and I began to pray over what the dreams meant, over if we were indeed to start an adoption journey or not.

For you see, there is a bit more backstory to this. For the 6 months prior to my travels to Rwanda, our dear Shiloh girl had developed a severe infection. An infection that had required 2 surgeries, 6 months of antibiotics with weekly appointments with a speciality doctor and a season that wiped us financially. Praise the Lord for her healing after surgery number two and for God’s grace and mercy within that. But tangibly speaking, financially speaking, we were in no place to begin an international adoption journey. A journey that on paper, as you begin you commit to the fees of a potential $60,000. And yet, that still small whisper, the gentle stirring of my soul would not release me. And in time, Josh felt the same. After 13 days of prayer he returned with the words “Well, I cannot say no, and my only response is that if this is supposed to be something we enter, if it does happen and come to fruition we shall have to declare Only God”.

And so, in October of 2017 we began our journey. Signing the papers, having no clue the journey that lay before us. And so, as we purchased plane tickets in October of 2021 for our trip to Burundi for November of 2021 we could only declare before us “Only God”.

Wednesday November 24, 2021

5:00am. Today was the day, the day we had awaited for so long, over 4 years to be exact. We awoke before the sun, getting ready with palms sweaty, heart racing, stomach churning. How do you adequately prepare to meet a child who has lived 7 years in another world, and begin to tell her you are now united to her? How do you begin to explain to a child that your heart has been shattered into a million pieces for her, that somehow in the stillness of the night the Lord tethered your heart to hers and that you have felt a connection that is not of this world, and yet you do not speak the same language or live in the same climate? How do you prepare to see the place your child has welcomed as home for the beginning of their life without you knowing a single piece of it? The honor of that sacred place? How do you prepare? For me, it was with sweaty palms, a racing heart, a churning stomach and a reminder to BREATHE.

6:00am. We met the other families at the front of the hotel. There was a shush about us all. You could hear a pen drop. We were all thinking the same thing. Are we ready for this? Really ready? We have read all the books, listened to all the podcasts, been through classes and training, learned little bits of the language, and been invested into the country of Burundi for years now. And yet here we were, standing on Burundian soil, preparing to drive 6 plus hours into the mountains of Burundi and approach the place our children have called home. Are we ready for this?

6:30am. Bags of donation items for the orphanage are loaded into the back of our 15 passenger van, overflowing into the additional little tan Toyota behind us. Each family neatly piled into a row in the van. The wheels began to turn and we were off. Thankfully that morning the weather was cool for Burundi. Lord knew the air was helpful to usher a simple relief to my relentless heat of anxiety. Minutes became hours. And quietly we took in the beauty of Burundi. Rolling hills, steep climb on the side of mountains, dangerously passing semis filled with glass soda bottles, or trucks with bellies full of sugar cane. Passing valleys with flowing streams and burning plants to sell as fire starters. Through villages with mothers with children tied beautifully around their waste in fabrics of every color imaginable. Goods and foods balanced on their heads and they walked the narrow roads back towards home. Young children playing with sticks, rocks or tires. Laughing as delightful as a honey to lips. And speaking of honey, Burundi has much honey too. Passing stands with fresh honey, milk, or fruit or vegetables. Avocados, bananas, pineapple, tomato, passion fruit, papaya, roasted corn and more. These moments felt like a lifetime and a moment all the same.

11:30am. It’s time for a bathroom break. And no, this does not mean we pull into a gas station or a fast food place. It means we pull our car to the side of the road alongside a hill. We climb the hill, find enough brush to hide ourselves from the children walking just down below and count to ourselves for what feels like eternity before the urge to go outweighs the stage freight and relief comes. Or maybe this was just my experience. :) The rest of the van seemed to have no problems relieving themselves out there, but for me? The image of that sweet boy’s eyes watching me as I walked up the hill, they kept showing up right as I tried to go, and well, it took a while…. But relief did finally come, and with a bit of hand sanitizer and a prayer of gratitude to the Lord for choosing a long skirt to wear that day, we were back on the road to our child. The one they call ours legally though we have never met face to face. The one we have loved by photo for over a year, yet never had the ability to communicate with. The one we have been praying over, the one we have chosen to walk alongside and welcome into our family, a merging of stories. The one we feel so honored to get to meet in a few short hours time.

1:00pm. We are told we are 10 minutes away from the Orphanage. And suddenly, the tears begin welling up in my eyes. Tears I knew would come this day. Tears similar to the first day we received a photo of her. The day when all my fears of not feeling connected or bonded washed away and I instantly felt love through a photo. Tears that no amount of willpower could stop. Each mother we saw in the village as we drove up the bumpy, clay road made me so grateful to get to be here. Right here in this moment in time. In this place in the world, around such a feeling of love. We slowly pulled in, the gates opening for us, and children welcoming us in song. I will never forget Thomas shouting “I see her! I see her! There is Theresia”! And then, I saw her too. She was brushed up against one of the nuns, standing with a shyness and boldness together about her. By this point in time I was full blown sobbing and shaking all over. I could not stop the wave of emotions, rushing as a roaring river before me. Handing my camera off to a friend, I stepped out of the van and walked directly towards her. I knelt to meet her at eye level, and she approached with a hug. It was a stiff hug and I almost felt bad, felt as if they had told her she had to hug me. I would have been ok without one in that moment. I understood all the emotions whirling, the bit of awkwardness it felt, the feeling of not knowing the right way to act, the feeling of knowing nothing, being a stranger and yet a close friend all in one. From there everything spun into a whirlwind, hugging nuns, children running and laughing everywhere. Slowly we were shuffled through the buildings, learning their routines of the day, getting to see how well loved they have been, how well taken care of. Then, we sat as they performed dance and song for us, next feeding us an African meal. We were treated like royalty, when truly it needed to be the other way around. But we would never dishonor the service, the kindness, the compassion they were offering to us. These nuns are genuinely the best of humanity I am convinced. Laying aside every aspect of “freedom” to live where true freedom is found. And then, in what felt like an instant we were whisked away, ushered back into the van, needing to get to our next destination before nightfall. I will never forget that moment. The strength of Theresia boldly sitting beside me and wildly waving her arms goodbye to all of her friends. I was so thankful she had another friend in the van with us that day, but oh her courage to embark on an adventure, one that shall change her life forever, with a smile on her face. It is more than I think I could have done at 7, and I pray she knows she is safe to cry, to release, to grieve and to mourn the beautiful place of her childhood.

3:30pm We are on our way to the next orphanage, yet all I can think is that I cannot believe this is real. There is a space of timidness. I don’t want to overwhelm her, yet I want her to know she doesn't have to be so tough for all of this either. She is safe to cry, safe to not be ok. So, I balance on this line of finding what little middle ground I can. The mix of car vibration, with filled bellies and worn emotions leaves us all tired as we drive to our town where we shall rest this evening. But on the way, Shiloh dozes off, her head to fall on Theresia’s shoulder. There is a sweetness in Theresia, a softness to embrace the connection as it lands. Then, she too loses the battle of alertness. Theresia dozes off too, her head falling to my shoulder, and in an instant, we have a domino of dozing heads, and a moment in time I shall never forget. It has been 4 years, and it has been 4 seconds all in one. The journey hard, and this moment a refreshing breeze of wind to break the heat of the years. Certainly there is no perfection in it. Things are still all a bit new, and with that newness comes a lot of uncomfortable moments. Yet, this moment marked the beginning for me. The beginning of knowing in the end, even if we fall as dominos do, we have a new member of the family falling with us. We are a team. And we shall embrace what is to come together. The moments of bliss and the moments of breaking. We are FOR each other. We are the Dugglebys, merged with the Wiringiyimana family forevermore now. What an indescribable gift and honor and responsibility to hold. I pray we do it justice.

10:30pm. We made it to our hotel for the evening. Weary after the day behind us, all 5 of us collapse into a King size bed, organized like a puzzle, nuzzled together as if we had never been a part. Such fear melted away. The first step behind us. We met the one God whispered to my heart through a dream over 4 years ago. The one He asked if we might be willing to leap into the Sea of fear, inadequacy and doubt and simply say yes to be a place for her to land. Not a savior, not giving her a “better” place, not giving her anything that I don’t wish a million times over her own birthmother could give. But here all the same, saying we see you, we cannot wait to get to know you, and thank you for letting us love you. We know you are going to make us better. The past four years have already proved that. Thank you for helping us learn to repent of our emotional hierarchy. Thank you for helping us see the world through the lens of a worldview, not a western view. Thank you for showing us where we had so much pride that we needed to crumble to humility. You, Theresia, the one whose name means “to bring the Harvest”, you are teaching us what it truly means to live in Harvest. To come to harvest means to actively serve, work and show up faithfully before ever seeing first fruits of a harvest. But what a faithful God to bring us to you, the day before Thanksgiving, the day we celebrate the Harvest. And what an offering this day must have been for you. And now we see a bit more fully. For us this day of unification must feel like a day of separation for you, and we are learning that there are always two sides to a story, and I pray we never leave one side to dust.

I’ll see you soon then, to continue this story of our time in Burundi. Thank you for being here and taking the time to read. I feel so humbly honored.

~Laura

Hope Is Always Better

Hope.

Here, lying on my back.
Soul scorched by the fire.
Insecurities prodding from every angle.
Despair rising like waters in a storm.
Hope slipping through fingertips.
Darkness covers, strangles, bears down.
And here I lie.
Screams of my mind,
Longings that feel unbearable.
For how to hold longings for children with no known name and face?
How to hold the pressure of what their story will hold?
Oh God, the air,
It’s hard to breathe now.
Darkness.
Darkness covers deep and wide.


But just when I feel my lungs may fail me.
Just when the screams are so loud my head physically screams now too.
Just then, I remember that God my God, You are my Shepherd.
You stay with me, and I with You.


You beckon me closer.
Closer to You, standing in the fire.
I am limp.
The heat has pulled the strength from my bones.
Yet, it is here, within the fragility that you remind me what hope is.
A hope that does not disappoint.
Hope is not always rainbows and sunshine,
Deer and streams of abundant water.
Hope in the very essence of the word is a state of longing.
Hope is the belief that within agony life, true life can coexist.


A breathe of relief exits my lungs.
I am ok.
I am going to be ok now.
Hope.
Hope is not weak, it is strong.
Hope is grit.
Hope is the ultimate surrender of the now,
For the sake of the untold story yet unfolding from your fingertips.
Hope is singing praises during the climb of the mountain,
During the state of the seemingly impossible,
Because you know that the view is going to blow your mind at the top.
An unswerving belief that the best is yet to come.


A belief that the pain is worth it.
That we will one day walk into the gates of heaven,
Singing our hallelujah song and the God of the universe looks upon us and smiles.
Hope is holding onto the sunrises and sunsets,
The Lillies of the valley, the morning glories and songs of the daffodils and knowing that they do not even touch the surface of what is yet to come.


Hope is standing on the edge of complete failure,
Complete heartbreak,
A complete state of unravel and knowing that you are never too far from the love of the Father.
For His banner over you is love.
Hope is rising from bed in mourning,
Placing feet to the earth and proclaiming that Jesus is with you today.
Hope is the declaration that though this world comes to steal and destroy,
You shall not be overcome.
Hope is a battle cry.
A victory song.
For hope is always better.


Despair is easier, yes I know.
I actually give in most days too.
I am there with you.
There is grace there too.
But hope.
Hope is something no one can touch.
No amount of hate, suffering, injustice, poverty or sickness can steal hope.


When Moses stood with the Israelites before the red sea, with no way before them,
Moses chose hope and God made a way where there was no way.
The Israelites were rescued.


When the Jews were on the brink of massacre,
Esther chose sacrifice, she chose hope.
God set the Jewish people free.


When the Philistines were set to destroy the Israelites,
David chose hope in courage and a tiny stone defeated a giant.
Victory arose.


When Jesus approached the women at the well,
Discouraged and dismayed, she chose to listen, to long for living waters greater than herself,
She chose to hope and Jesus filled her with eternal living hope.


When Jesus Himself was in the garden before His crucifixion,
Within the greatest despair Jesus chose hope.
There was an expectation in His soul for the things to come that outweighed the pain and suffering of His present.
He chose hope. He chose redemption. He chose faithful love for us.
For love hopes all things.


Despair feels easier in the present circumstances, I know.
But hope is Always Better.


The cords of death may entangle you,
But cry out dear ones.
Cry out in hope.
Mountains will shake, the earth will tremble and love will come down.
Consuming fires shall become spirits ablaze,
Dark storm clouds will become your safe canopy.
Radiance will overtake you by the presence of the Holy One.


Hope is far beyond what we might ever ask or imagine.
Our minds cannot contain it.
Our bodies cannot always feel it.
Yet, it is always there.
On the other side of obedient courage.
Hope is Always Better dear friends.
Hope.
Our fighting battlecry.


Rising from ashes,
Marching across the graveyard.
This world may knock us down, drag us through the fiery valleys,
But I promise you, hope does not return void.
Speak it from your lips,
Declare hope.
Sing hope.
Proclaim hope.
Let it rise.
Let it rise higher now.
Hope.
Hope is Always Better.