I strongly believe that everything in life can be broken down into smaller parts. For example, the water in my water bottle is two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen. The ham sandwich I ate for lunch is made of molecules. I am made of cells, literally trillions of cells. And life – life is made of moments. We experience so many moments, yet most we don’t even remember. Many that we do remember are glorious. Some moments are filled with laughter. Some are blissfully peaceful. However, many of the moments I’ve experienced are not. As a kid, the dysfunction I was enveloped in bred many painful memories. You see, families can be cohesive and bond through tragedy, but in my house, misfortune brought out the worst in our human nature.

One day I looked in the mirror and told myself, “Zoe, this is it. This is what life is. Grow up. Watch your back because no one else will.” And that’s all I thought existed in life. Most of the moments I’d experienced had given me reason to loose faith in humanity.

My mentor figures all told me the same thing – someday things would get better. Life would start looking up. I’d find reasons to trust the world again. I waited. I thought my big break would come like a flood, a continual flow of relief from my previous worldview.

That’s not what happened. When a bit of healing did come, it left me just as quickly as it had washed over me. Still, it left an impression. It came one morning while I stood on the city bus. A little kid was standing on my shoe, the bus was stuck in a traffic jam, and I suddenly felt at peace. Not a peace about the traffic; for I knew that would pass, but a larger sort of peace. The thought came to me that if God cares so deeply about the birds of the air, than he must surely care enough about me to not let my past engulf me. The thought came and went, yet it’s had an invigorating effect on me ever since. That was six years ago. Sometimes hope is just a moment, but that’s all I needed.