Today is February 12th, two days before February 14 – Valentine’s Day, which I believe should be correctly called Saint Valentine’s Day. Poor Saint Valentine. Did he ever suspect that his day would be connected to red hearts, candy, and over-priced flowers? I don’t know much about Valentine other than he became the patron saint of love, in particular engaged and married couples. I do know that Valentine’s Day has become a commercial avalanche of pink and red!
However, today, the day before the day before the day of love I am trying to hold on to one of the other elements in St. Paul’s trifecta, his hat trick of values and principles – faith, hope and love. In the gushing news cycle of negativity I am trying to hold on to hope. I want to be informed and current but, honestly, sometimes I just have to turn off the news – I can’t take one more bullying threat from the orange man south of the border. I can’t absorb one more photo of destruction in Ukraine, Gaza, Sudan, or any of the other countries torn by conflict. In this bleak mid-winter I am beleaguered by worry and sorrow in equal measure.
Yesterday our Book Club discussed this month’s read ‘The Beekeeper of Aleppo’. The novel tells with searing honestly the harrowing experience of one couple, refugees fleeing Syria for a better life. We sat in our comfortable chairs in our well appointed ‘parlour’ gutted by the reality that so many millions of people are facing as they flee trying to find a better life; torn between gratitude and guilt for the easy life so many of us enjoy here in Canada.
So, hope, how to find hope in what can be an overwhelming time of anything but. Today the daylight hours will be longer than yesterday by 2 minutes and 44 seconds. The sun is making its journey back to the Northern Hemisphere. I find hope in the predictability of nature. The sun does shine this morning. The winter snow brightens up the day. The cold temperature is bracing and refreshing. These, for me are signs of hope.
My first garden catalogue has arrived in the mail and I have already started to think about what flowers I might plant when the season of gardening rolls around. That gives me hope.
I think of Wendell Berry’s poem, ‘The Peace of the Wild Things” and that poem and the fact that there is poetry and art and music that has been, and is still being, created gives me hope. The glorious reassurance of the arts that creativity cannot be extinguished by political maneuverings or power seeking oligarchs.
I have scheduled a phone conversation with a friend for 10:30 this morning. We haven’t had a chance to chat for some time and when I called to set up this time we were both excited to think we could finally take time to talk and reconnect. That gives me hope – the joy of friendship.
This Sunday I will lead worship for my regular crowd of about 80 people. They are mostly older than me – and I am not young – but they will be here, they will sing hymns of faith, they will pray with sincere hearts, they will be nourished with a bit of bread and a sip of juice and they will go out ready to exercise their discipleship for another week. That gives me hope.
Finally the words of Isaiah give me hope, “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will live forever.” Endless hope on this day before the day before of love.
Great uplifting post Nancy!