My mind sifts systematically through the issues of the day. My spirit roams over inner hills and valleys of feelings, moving instinctively from one to another. Hope is not automatically on the screen. Hope must be remembered. I must remember to remember hope.
Hope remembered is the tiny passageway between the distant mountains.
And there, in hope, I remember God. The present projected into the future has no hope in it. It is gray, and it does not stop being gray. C. S. Lewis used this image to describe Hell in his novel, The Great Divorce . He compared it to the gray and endless streets of industrial Manchester on a rainy day.