dancingthroughchaos

‘hope does not disappoint’ – St Paul; Romans 5 v 5

Whatever else you may say about the English football team over the past few weeks, they’ve certainly been a ray of sunshine in a gloomy landscape blighted by Brexit, Boris and baloney.  Every now and again, even the most pessimistic could be overheard humming that all pervading 1996 anthem and for a few exquisite days we almost believed that it was really ‘coming home’.   And what did that do?  It brought us hope. 

It doesn’t feel as though there have been great supplies of that important commodity of late.  Everyone in the UK has been slogging through the unaccustomed heat with the same grim fortitude with which they faced the ridiculous amounts of snow which were dumped on our little island back in March.  The excitement of the referendum two years ago – and it genuinely was a time of renewed political interest regardless of how you cast your vote – has stagnated into recriminations, resignations and a blanket of subdued fatalism that, just when we thought things were pretty dark, they may yet turn completely black.   The cabinet seems to be bailing left, right and centre, abandoning responsibilities, manoeuvring for possible leadership contests and generally not appearing to give a fig for the people  they are supposed to represent.  The feeling on the street is that politicians lied to us then, they’re lying to us now and will probably continue to do so for as long as time keeps ticking on, and towards whichever dreary conclusion we blunder.  Everyone is tired of that, tired of them and just plain tired. 

Moreover, when everyone thought they’d had enough, ‘The Donald’ is about to land on our weary shores with an entourage of 1000 in his travelling circus. The summer holidays can’t come soon enough.  Experience tells us that this may well be considered by the baggage handlers at Heathrow, Paris, Frankfurt and Amsterdam as the perfect time to all go on strike and bring their particular brand of holiday misery to the unfortunate sun-seekers who, it turns out, would have done better to just stay at home where it’s already pushing 30 most days.

To add insult to injury, not only did Gareth Southgate’s boys go out against Croatia, but, on the same day, Roger Federer limped out of Wimbledon in a five set giant killing, despite having been on match point in the third set.  Watching a champion struggle and keel over is a lacklustre, draining experience, even when he’s not one of your own.  So, while waistcoat sales have soared by 35% at  M & S, reviving an interest in ‘formal wear’ and injecting some hope to a struggling  retail store, the rest of us may need to look elsewhere.

I have been enjoying the green spaces around Bath during the past 8 weeks.  The opportunity to open my door and walk far and freely is always a source of delight especially as I’ve been keen to ‘up’ my flagging fitness levels.  The practicalities are tougher in Cape Town, where fences, bars and wire can give the sensation of being imprisoned even while they serve to keep dangers out.  Just this morning I enjoyed wandering through the recently cut meadows above the Georgian city, grateful that their National Trust ownership will ensure that they will never be built on by developers but continue to be enjoyed by generations to come.  Following some of those wonderful public footpaths, miles of which thread their way through this ‘green and pleasant land’, I ended up in the same woods I visited at the start of this trip.  The garlic has long gone, but the cocoon of green silence and comfort remains.  Having negotiated a challengingly steep incline of rough steps, I seated myself on a useful tree root to catch my breath.  (Yesterday, on the northern slopes of the city I was convinced someone was pounding along behind me and politely moved to allow them space to pass.  No one appeared and it was somewhat embarrassing to realise the thudding had been that of my own heart… Clearly I have a long way to go!)

Pausing to reflect on life is recommended as part of good mental health; whether you call it meditation, mindfulness, or simply gathering your thoughts; in a frantic world, we would probably all benefit from doing it more often.  So, I sat in the woods, took some deep breaths and reflected on some of the things and interactions that have been happening in my life over the past week.  Some of them have been surprising, some have been stressful and upsetting, some have been downright baffling.  Inevitably, it’s seldom easy to be objective about your own sphere of activity and I must admit, I felt rather overwhelmed.  The temptation to stay in the woods for ever, far from the city below and all that it represented, was a strong one this morning. 

Now, I am not a person without hope.  I have a living faith which stretches and challenges me daily.  It compels me to face, rather than escape, the big questions of life.  It assures me that life is more than that which I see directly in front of me; that there is a story, a narrative, that weaves throughout history which is neither arbitrary, abstract or doom-laden.  That faith has shaken me to my core on occasion; it affirms my identity and purpose in a sometimes chaotic world, and it is both the plumb line and lifeline for however many years I may have left on this beautiful, frustrating, complex, wonderful planet.  It reminds me that while I am far from perfect, I am forgiven; I am not alone and I am not insignificant in the eyes of the One who put me here.  It’s the kind of robust, solid hope which trusts rather than a flimsy, fanciful wishful-thinking. 

I was roused from my rather gloomy reverie, by the arrival of a small robin who flew into the shady trees from the sunlit field adjacent to the woods.  His beady eye and bold approach afforded me a clear view of his colourful red breast.  Perhaps he brought out the Christmas vibes in me, but I instantly felt better.  His presence reminded me of the cheerful sight he and his relatives regularly bring us during the dull grey/white winters that the northern hemisphere endures.  This morning, I was equally struck by the smallness of his frame contrasted with the magnitude of his resourceful heart.  That such a small bird can flourish without employment, financial support or education was representative of something enduring and yes, hope-filled.

I enjoyed his company for a few brief seconds before some morsel caught his eye and he flew off again, determined to pursue the simple demands of his own day.  And I returned to mine, grateful that hope does not disappoint when its roots drill deeply into something more enduring than the outcome of a football match; even a really compelling one.