This photo of me with my oldest and youngest sons holds so much more than a moment—it holds a whole “story.”

There were years when I carried hope like something fragile. Like a candle I had to protect from the wind of life… the hard seasons, the worries, the places where things didn’t go the way I thought they would.

And then there are moments like this—standing between two of my boys, feeling their arms around me, seeing the men they’ve become—and I realize: “hope isn’t fragile.” Hope is something you “live inside of.”

Not because life is perfect…

but because love is still here.

Because we’re still here.

Because we’ve kept choosing each other—through growth, through change, through all the chapters that shaped us.

As a mama, I’ve learned that what I hope for most isn’t fancy. It’s simple and sacred:

that my sons know they are deeply loved

that they feel safe to be fully themselves

that they learn to meet life with courage and tenderness

that they keep building lives that feel true from the inside out

And standing here with them, I can feel it: we’re not admiring hope from a distance.

We’re living under its roof.

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