One afternoon, I was walking on a forgettable road, distracted by the many tasks occupying my mind. I walked along the black asphalt and paid no attention to my surroundings. Pausing for a moment, I looked down and saw a green plant. As I stared at the plant, I felt the Holy Spirit tug at my heart, much like a child tugging on the sleeve of a parent’s arm.

The plant was nothing striking. Perhaps many would describe it as a weed. But what gave me pause was where the plant was growing. Surrounded by broken asphalt, the plant’s determination to grow had dislodged concrete. The stubbornness of its desire had broken through a hardened surface and allowed new life to grow in a place that seemed impossible.

During Advent, I pray with this image. Especially today, when we read Jesus’ words, “…the Kingdom of Heaven suffers violence, and the violent are taking it by force.” When I look at the world, I see this violence. I see the powerful taking more and more, and in the wake of this greed, I see the increased suffering of the powerless. I see this, and the surface of my heart begins to feel like dry concrete.

 But then, I remember the plant, and I pray for hope and faith to take root below the parts of my heart that feel hardened. I remember seeing a child light the Advent candle, hearing students pray for peace during Taizé prayer, watching Pope Francis speaking the truth to power.

 And then I feel it. The gentle roots of hope growing in my heart. I feel its strength, its determination, its desire to break through the hardened parts of my heart.

I sit in prayer, and hope emerges. It blooms in my heart and make my heart open like the wings of a butterfly struck by the sunlight.

 I close my eyes, and pray with hope in my heart.