A Little Hope' is a song we wrote a couple of years ago and hated

“‘A Little Hope’ is a song we wrote a couple of years ago and hated the thought of it not getting at least a little attention. It’s a song that just makes you smile.” Thus spoke Bart Millard, the singer and soul of MercyMe, whose words capture not only the creation of a song but the very nature of hope itself. To the unknowing ear, his statement may seem casual—a musician speaking fondly of his art. But to the heart that listens deeply, it reveals a truth as old as the human spirit: that even the smallest spark of hope, once kindled, must not be allowed to fade into silence. For hope is the seed of light, and even the tiniest light has the power to pierce through the longest night.

The origin of this quote lies in the making of MercyMe’s music—songs born from struggle, faith, and longing. Bart Millard, known for penning the timeless “I Can Only Imagine,” has spent his life turning pain into melody, sorrow into strength. When he speaks of “A Little Hope,” he does not merely describe a cheerful tune—he names a lifeline, a reminder that joy, however small, deserves to be heard. He confesses that they could not bear for the song to be forgotten, for in it lived a smile, a moment of brightness in a world often shadowed by despair. His words carry the tenderness of an artist who understands that music, like hope, must be shared to live.

Hope, to Millard, is not a grand or distant thing. It is “little,” yet mighty. In every age, humanity has been saved by such little hopes—quiet acts of kindness, whispered prayers, songs sung in the dark. Think of Anne Frank, writing in her hidden attic while war thundered outside, believing still in the goodness of people. Her words, fragile as candlelight, became eternal flame. Or recall the story of Victor Frankl, imprisoned in the camps of death, yet holding fast to the belief that man’s spirit could not be chained. Each of these souls carried a little hope—small enough to seem foolish, yet strong enough to outlast cruelty itself.

What Millard reveals, then, is the power of preservation—the refusal to let good things vanish into neglect. Just as an artist saves a melody from silence, so must each of us rescue hope from forgetting. For every life holds its own unfinished songs—dreams postponed, words left unsaid, kindness left undone. To abandon them is to surrender to despair. But to give them “a little attention,” as Millard says, is to breathe them back to life. A small song may yet comfort a weary heart; a small act may yet change the course of another’s day. Nothing born of love is ever too small to matter.

And there is wisdom, too, in his humility. When he says the song “just makes you smile,” he reminds us that joy need not always be profound to be sacred. The world often celebrates the grand—the symphony, the masterpiece, the victory—but it is the simple smile, the quiet kindness, the gentle tune that heals the soul. A smile is itself a form of hope, a defiance of darkness. To create something that makes another smile is no small feat; it is to wage peace in a world of turmoil.

So, O listener of the ages, take this message to heart: do not neglect the little hopes within you. Do not wait for perfection before you share your gifts, your words, your light. Even the faintest song, when sung with sincerity, may find its way into a heart in need. If you have something that makes the world smile—a gesture, a story, a kindness—let it not remain hidden. As Bart Millard refused to let his song fade into obscurity, so too must you guard and release the sparks of joy entrusted to your soul.

For in the end, all of life is but a song—a fragile melody carried through time by those who dare to keep singing. The world does not need more greatness; it needs more hope, however small. A little hope can lift a weary heart. A little hope can spark a movement. A little hope can save a soul. And when shared, as Millard’s song was, it multiplies. So let us, each in our own way, give our hopes “a little attention”—that they may grow into smiles, into songs, into light that will outlast the shadows of our fleeting days.