The phone
rang in the red phone box on Wood St, High Barnet, N. London. I was nervous as I waited for it to be picked
up. I was in Adelaide, South
Australia. It was early October 1989 and
I had just arrived there as part of a post university gap year after a few
months working on the west coast of the U.S.
My girlfriend, Ina, and I had arranged to meet for Christmas in Kathmandu.
I was apprehensive
and my breath was a little short as she picked up the receiver. I explained that I realised I needed more
time in Australia, and could we wait till I returned to the UK in April. It was complicated by the fact that Ina had
already worked in Nepal and was keen to get back again and show me the places
that meant a lot to her. In the early summer
when we said goodbye to each other we just could not think about not seeing
each other for a whole 9 months, so meeting up in Nepal seemed a great plan. The wait just seemed too long.
Certainly if
you had told me back in March of this year that we would be in December, still
facing a Covid crisis and with very restricted movements I would have
despaired. The wait would have seemed too long. And here we are in Advent and waiting in a
way we rarely have before. Advent though is also a season of hope and I wonder
if there is a viable and measured way of waiting in hope.
Hope is a
tricky thing, and the Classical world were very cautious about it, seeing it as
a last resort when all else had failed.
A disappointed hope can be a cruel blow, especially if we have overcome
hurt and disappointment and even heart break and screwed up the courage to step
out in hope again. We so often talk
about stepping out in faith, but I think we step out in hope too, because it
also is an act of courage and movement into the unknown. There is always the possibility
(even sometimes the probability) that what we hope for will not come to pass. There
is a risk in hoping, but the life giving choice we make to hope says that the
risk is worth taking. The hurt of
disappointment is worth the energising joy of hope.
It seems also
that we discover reserves of hope in just enough amounts to keep us going. A
grounded hope knows the reality of circumstances and is not naïve so as to
think all dreams come true. It is able
to hope enough, a measured hope that looks life in the eye, the distance still
to go and the unknowns that lurk in the shadows and says I can hope for today,
this week. I have enough certainty about
my immediate future to go on. I suppose
Ina and I had enough hope we thought for 6 months but not for 9.
Yet you get
to that rise in the road and you see there is still further to go, more
waiting, and you discover that actually it’s okay. There are deeper experiences and richer
moments that come with the added waiting.
I certainly found that in my extended time in Australia working in
different places and meeting people I would never have done otherwise, especially
in the outback.
We have the
hope of a vaccine now firmly on the horizon.
It has actually come incredibly fast in scientific terms. The end is in sight, well the beginning of
the end of this stage of our journey.
Advent reminds us that God came at Christmas and because of this the
ultimate fate of our world is a hopeful one.
The light that came into the darkness that first Christmas still shines
today into our dark times. God has shown
his commitment to humanity…”The people in darkness have seen a great light.”
I too
discovered enough hope to go on, as a very gracious Ina agreed to postpone but
I knew I would see her, if only a bit later.
She sent me a box of Christmas presents to a small outback town and in
April I offered her an engagement ring kneeling on the floor of Heathrow
airport arrivals. Willst du mich hieraten?
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