I was looking at my dismal blog stats, and saw that I had 666 posts. I’m not super superstitious, but that number bothers me.
Silly, I know.
I looked at my draft folder to see if I could quickly publish something else. This one fits with the daily prompt: hope.
667 is an okay number. Not prime — its prime factorization is 23 and 29 — but it will have to do.
I grew up in a town where the school colors were orange and black.
And, quite honestly, hard-to-find-a-team-swimsuit-in colors.
Girls tied orange and black ribbons in their hair and shook orange and black pom-poms at football games.
Ten years ago we moved to a town where the school colors were green and gold.
In one of Andrew Peterson’s songs, he sings, “You led me by the hand into a land of green and gold; You never let go.” I know he wasn’t thinking of me, but isn’t it funny?
I was thinking about the green and gold this morning when I saw a goldfinch, all dressed up for spring, perched on the bird feeder. With the jonquils in the foreground and a mass of daffodils off in the distance, with the grass so rich and green from yesterday’s rain, and with Mr. Goldfinch visiting, all I could think of was green and gold.
Green is the color of hope.
Yellow the color of … I wasn’t sure. So I did a little research.
Yellow is also a color of hope.
A yellow house is seen as welcoming.
Too much yellow can be disturbing, though. Babies cry in yellow rooms. People struggle to complete tasks when surrounded by yellow.
But a splash of yellow is like a ray of sunshine, brightening any scene.
So much about that move to Greene, the town of green and gold, was hard. It felt more black and orange than Cooperstown ever did; maybe even black and blue. I was too old to move, to adapt, to find my way in a new place. I felt beat up.
Sometimes, I would shut myself in the bathroom, look out the window, and cry.
But what I saw from that window — the yellow siding of our house on the out-jut of our kitchen and the green of our yard stretching down to the little creek — was green and gold. Hope and more hope.
In so many ways, I grew more in those years than ever before. A growth spurt — in my late 40s and early 50s. Upward.
Painful, but oh so good.
God literally had to lead me to a land of green and gold so I could learn hope.
Now I straddle the two places — one foot in orange and black, the other green and gold.
And I’m thankful for both.
Thankful for the move and all it taught me.
Thankful for two homes, even though it’s hard.