The other day, I was walking through midtown Manhattan when I saw a man leaning against some scaffolding surrounding a sky rise; he wore a once white, now gray, construction hard hat, battered and torn jeans, and scuffed steel-toe boots. In his tanned and worn hands, he held six lottery tickets and a dingy penny. You could see a slight smile cross his weathered face as he continued to scratch the ticket, hoping it would reveal something grand. The image of this tired man, still brimming with faith and anticipation, resonated with me.
Most everyone knows the odds are against someone when a lottery ticket is purchased; and yet, millions are sold every year. My father persistently buys lottery tickets, and with every ticket, he wishes that this is the one—this will be the one that changes everything. I remember when we were planning my wedding, he would come home from the local convenience store, grinning, lottery tickets in hand, look at me and say, “This one is going to pay for the whole thing.” The sparkle in his eye as he checked the paper the next morning was still there, still hoping he had a winner, even though he knew he probably did not.
Despite the grim statistics, my father, the man I passed on the street, and thousands of others still believe in the possibility of something great. Emily Dickinson once wrote, “Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops... at all.” To anyone who has ever dreamed and hoped for a better tomorrow, keep singing, keep believing.
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