Enduring hope
6/3/22 14:16![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sudden_serenityThe world is in tough times, there's no two ways about it. War, climate crisis, hate, intolerance, poverty - the lesser or greater degrees there are very few people right now who can say they are living the sweet life. There are even those who, like, me, find it impossible to put up emotional barriers against the onslaught of desperate news that we are bombarded with, day in and day out. I find myself so affected by the suffering and the inhumanity of some that I have to actively avoid the news or workplace chat or social media to protect myself from it. And if it's not humanity as a whole, it's on a more personal scale. Within my circle of closest friends I have a divorce after 30 years, an advanced case of breast cancer and someone who has had their life's saving scammed from them by people purporting to be their bank. Some days are just too hard to bear.
This week I was looking forward to meeting up with my reading club friends who I met at work some years ago and found a mutual appreciation of a good book. We gathered at our usual pub, bought pots of tea and settled down to catch up with each other before we discussed our last read. I was asked first, so I explained some stress and tension at work, some minor health issues that were niggling, my plans for the year - normal stuff. My friends however had such terrible stories to share that I was left in shame that I had even imagined that I wasn't one of fortune's favoured ones. One lady has a sister in law in a flat in Kyiv, remaining with her elderly and ill parents as the bombs explode all around them, waiting for the one that doesn't miss. Another friend has a partner who has an unidentified wasting illness after a brush with Covid - she herself had it over Christmas and had lost so much weight from being forgotten up in her bed and feeling too ill to get up to feed herself.
They both did their best to steer the conversation away from these awful stories but we were a subdued bunch that discussed our last book and chose the next. I drove home depressed and sad, and had nightmares, back to back all night.
I got up early the next morning and took my dog for her usual walk. I knew that this would most likely clear my mind and give me some peace. I had already decided to donate to a refugee charity that I have supported in the past but walking along the streets of my village as the sun began to rise, I saw that there were already notices about collections points for donations and people who had left boxes outside for people to leave items for babies and hygiene necessities to pass on to people in the local town who had hired vans to drive to Poland to deliver what was given.
My heart was already filling with hope as I walked towards the field path to home, the crows making their noisy way to their day's haunts. The trees which had been felled by the terrible winds of the week before were neatly chopped and snacked, their driveways cleared by neighbours and friends after the massive trunks had blocked the routes and as the hedges ended and the field opened ahead of me the sun was visible, low on the horizon and partially hidden by clouds, but a beautiful pink/red that streaked the sky and made even the tattered, grey rain clouds glow purple and magenta.
I made my donation online when I got home and added items to my shopping list to take to the donation points, took a deep breath and carried on with my day. Not better, but hopeful.
This week I was looking forward to meeting up with my reading club friends who I met at work some years ago and found a mutual appreciation of a good book. We gathered at our usual pub, bought pots of tea and settled down to catch up with each other before we discussed our last read. I was asked first, so I explained some stress and tension at work, some minor health issues that were niggling, my plans for the year - normal stuff. My friends however had such terrible stories to share that I was left in shame that I had even imagined that I wasn't one of fortune's favoured ones. One lady has a sister in law in a flat in Kyiv, remaining with her elderly and ill parents as the bombs explode all around them, waiting for the one that doesn't miss. Another friend has a partner who has an unidentified wasting illness after a brush with Covid - she herself had it over Christmas and had lost so much weight from being forgotten up in her bed and feeling too ill to get up to feed herself.
They both did their best to steer the conversation away from these awful stories but we were a subdued bunch that discussed our last book and chose the next. I drove home depressed and sad, and had nightmares, back to back all night.
I got up early the next morning and took my dog for her usual walk. I knew that this would most likely clear my mind and give me some peace. I had already decided to donate to a refugee charity that I have supported in the past but walking along the streets of my village as the sun began to rise, I saw that there were already notices about collections points for donations and people who had left boxes outside for people to leave items for babies and hygiene necessities to pass on to people in the local town who had hired vans to drive to Poland to deliver what was given.
My heart was already filling with hope as I walked towards the field path to home, the crows making their noisy way to their day's haunts. The trees which had been felled by the terrible winds of the week before were neatly chopped and snacked, their driveways cleared by neighbours and friends after the massive trunks had blocked the routes and as the hedges ended and the field opened ahead of me the sun was visible, low on the horizon and partially hidden by clouds, but a beautiful pink/red that streaked the sky and made even the tattered, grey rain clouds glow purple and magenta.
I made my donation online when I got home and added items to my shopping list to take to the donation points, took a deep breath and carried on with my day. Not better, but hopeful.
