The bridges in and out of Washington D.C. are closed for the better part of this week as part of security measures ahead of tomorrow's Presidential inauguration. This means I made the right decision in cancelling plans to visit my parents yesterday, who live about 2.5 hours away from me and would’ve required me to drive over these now-closed bridges.

Four years ago, on the morning after the 2016 Presidential election had been decided, I cried out of disbelief and fear. Today, I dare to hope.

But it’s not a naive, arms-outstretched-embracing-the-world kind of a hope. It’s a cautious hope, an eyes-wide-open kind of hope, a learn-from-others-and-be-committed-to-listening-and-growing kind of a hope. It’s the kind of hope that is so important for us to fiercely grip and dare to nurture despite whatever ailments are pushing us down, tearing us apart and harming our communities.

I read an article in the Washington Post about how many women, especially women of color, were going to attend the inauguration as a celebration of hope and shared energy because of Vice President-elect Kamala Harris, and they had to cancel their plans because of the insurrection on January 6th at the Capitol as well as surging COVID-19 cases:

There is something so powerful in that – refusing to be sad, daring to hope. This is not to negate the experiences of anyone struggling and needing to sit in sadness or pain right now. But the past four years has taught many of us what so many Black communities and other communities of color have known and lived for decades – that the decks are stacked, the work always falls to us, we cannot let up for a second, we must live with radical love and self-forgiveness, justice will (Insha’Allah) prevail and that determination and hope are some of our most courageous and greatest assets.

One of the 99 names of Allah (S) is Al-’Adl, the Utterly Just. He metes out justice in the end, whether in this lifetime of the next, and in that we seek comfort and hope. In that we dare to hope and work for something better, to not let the awfulness, negativity and difficulties of the times we are living in bury us in the ground.

I dare to hope.

And yes, that is a privilege that I do not take for granted, not for a second.

Four years ago about half of this country celebrated and half mourned when President Trump was inaugurated. But those who mourned, they didn’t storm the Capitol. They didn’t seek revenge. They didn’t declare the election was stolen. They accepted what was to be, and the next day women peacefully marched in extraordinary numbers in Washington, D.C. and across the country. They marched year after year in defiance, resistance and hope.

Anas ibn Malik reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “If the Resurrection were established upon one of you while he has in his hand a sapling, then let him plant it.”

I don’t know if that time is upon us, but surely, even as we look towards the inauguration of a new President and Vice President, the immense worry and hardships remain. So, I am daring to plant a sapling of hope in my hearth and home. Not a Pollyannaish-kind of hope, but one that I pray fortifies myself and my children to keep doing the hard work. Dare to hope with me, if you can.