12th December

There were things I couldn’t do.

I thought today about writing bumper three-days-worth post, or three separate emails that might all arrive over the next 24 hours (which would obviously be too many emails for anyone’s inbox), or staying a few days behind for the rest of advent but stubbornly getting them all done…

Or letting them be unwritten. Because I didn’t write them.

The reasons why not are good. The last few days have been the culmination of an intensive and wide ranging project, navigating real-world and fictional painful stories, and leading and listening through big emotions and a big workload. A journey of navigating injustice and learning and off-kilter practicalities, and a long dark commute, over and over and over.

But when each thirteen hour day was done, I was determined to write these emails. Because I said I would. Because I want to. Because I know that when I do, that writing is hope. The page not being blank. The filling with words and finding a picture that means something, bears hope to Tomorrow Esther, and maybe, hopefully, to a few others.

But the last few days, I had to admit I couldn’t. And in a way I don’t have words for (but maybe they will percolate for tomorrow), that not-doing feels like bearing hope too. Somehow, my (INJF/Enneagram 4 if you like that kind of thing) gut is whispering that the not-managing, or the choosing to let my brain rest, or the excessive sugar of the last few days, held hope too.

But I’m writing now, and thinking of last night, seeing the project come to, in more ways than often seemed likely or possible, a good end. Thinking of the moments I was able to bear hope to those I was navigating for, or with. The ways they bore hope to one another, to me. The ways that we made hope together as we wrangled with things that felt far from hope. The ways sometimes things aligned to bring hope. Along the times they didn’t.

And thinking of the day when snow meant that unexpectedly everyone met Robin. And how someone asked me last night about her name, and I told the story of the Christmas-time, red-coated, small and friendly, Secret Garden joy-bringing, lifetime-longed-for puppy. (The same one staring at me dolefully now as I type instead of play.) How the day she visited felt hopeful, and that as I’d hoped when I named her, she brought joy.

So, today is a day of naming the days of emails that got lost along the way, but also the days that things worked - against the odds, or in the snow, or as a group of creative and deep-feeling and longing-to-learn people made things together. How they also made hope.

[Image description: a beautiful illustration of Robin, hand drawn by one of the group I was working with. Her eyes perfectly captured, and an actual robin with a blue beret and scarf perched on her head. The words “thank you”, and snow falling in the background.]