Hope in a time of Corona

On the day the circuit breaker was extended, I was calling Naomi before I knew. I lay on my parents' bed on my stomach, glad of the break from work to listen to her in her garden while I watched the fan spin and wondered about fate. I told her the Prime Minister was about the speak, she wished me well and we said good bye.

I called Jacob that evening while on a walk, wearing a mask that I felt was holding my face - my whole body - together. It didn't do a very good job. Crying in a mask is damp, suffocating, snotty and pathetic. 

'I feel like I can't be in past because it is so different from now. I can't be in the present because I really dislike the present. And I can't be in the future because I don't know what it will look like any more.'

'Jacob, where can I go?'

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I found things particularly hard when the lockdown was extended because I had plans. Every year, at the beginning of the year, I make predictions. I like to say they are my hopes and fears for the year, with a bit more magic. 

This all started with Alex, and we sat one new years day making predictions which we then folded up and put into an old ferrero rocher box with some sweets and glitter, and buried in the woods near her house. She's gone back now and then, but has never found that box again despite one focused session of intense digging. I can't remember exactly what I predicted then - something about liking tea and having an argument with Jacob I think. 

This year, I predicted Jacob would grow a beard, and it happened.

This year, I predicted that Jacob would propose on a Sunday in May.

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Last week, I read that Wuhan had seen more cases. I read that the PPE delivered to the UK was useless. I read that people were dying, and people are dying. 

'How do I hope when I can't see what it looks like? When I don't know what to hope for?' I asked Jacob, sitting on the floor in the windowless back room.

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This week, I went on a walk and listened to a podcast about Hope in a time of disappointment. Hope, it explained, is different to prediction. Prediction, or planning, is magical thinking. It is creating scenarios which can can see happening - scenarios with likelihood and benefit for you - in which you place your hope. But hope, real hope, is more about trusting something (or someone) that won't fade or change or be overturned by government rules. I can hope in Jesus - his promises to never leave nor forsake, his victory over death, his loving kindness (always). 

Maybe that looks like, instead of predicting that Jacob would propose on a Sunday in May, I trust that Jacob loves me and therefore hope that he will express his love to me in the best way for us. Maybe that looks like, instead of predicting that the world will come out of its lockdown and find a vaccine by July, that God will use this time to show his love and mercy and to deepen that precious knowledge of our need for him. I still pray for a vaccine, and for healing, and to see the people I love again. Prayer negates prediction since its very premise is one of helplessness. But I hope in Jesus, in his resurrection and his life - the life he gives to all who believe in him.