Somewhere in the human mind are well-trained symphony orchestras ready to weave paeans and well-lubricated harmonies that appreciate the words "hope" and "trust." I'm not against it ... just sayin'.
But when I read the two words in close proximity the other day, I wondered how much the one differed from the other ... how it distinguished itself as something separate. Was there a symphony that played Beethoven while another played Haydn?
I couldn't readily find an answer. Instead I got stuck on the fact that both trust and hope carried with them an implicit and mostly whispered doubt. Each held within its DNA a statement of contentment and assurance based on what could not be known for sure. The sun will rise in the East. Water is wet. War is a heinous business ... beyond horror. And Beethoven is to die for.
And perhaps it is that very uncertainty that makes the music so loud and sweet in the first place.