It’s been the strangest few months – hence my lack of blogs.
Lockdown and the effects of the pandemic have been a unique experience for us all and each of us has reacted differently. I’ve admired the resilience of fellow writers and creatives who have churned out books and continued to expound their thoughts and feelings over the past year. Often this has been a channel for very real anxiety, frustration and confusion.
And yet I have found myself frozen and silent on the side lines, like a spectator in the stands of an England football match, looking on in fear.
Watching England play on Tuesday night reacquainted me with all the stress of supporting your national team, the intakes of breath as the opposing team take a shot at goal. The rising hopes and then that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you watch them trying to set up a goal, only to give away the ball to the other side, who dance it dangerously away towards our open goal. It’s stressful to watch and I have to confess to spending many England World Cup games in the kitchen, unable to cope with the edge of the seat nerves.
So, while some of my fellow creatives have been either launching themselves into the field or standing waving and shouting in the stands, I have been stuck to my seat, unable to understand my emotions and unable to form coherent or appropriate words for each twist and turn of the pandemic.
One author has really helped me shine a flickering candle on what might have been happening and helped me see I am not alone. Catherine Fox’s Tales from Lindford has turned out to be a cathartic read.
Always a fan of the author’s stimulating writing and delicious irreverent humour, I dived into this new offering hoping for an escape from the dismal headlines. The book was written in real time during 2020 and charts the characters experiences and reactions to what was happening. It took me back to the days before we’d even heard of Covid-19, the need for face masks and before vaccines. It reminded me of the journey we’ve all been on. More than that, as I read some of the feelings and thoughts of the various characters, I recognised my own emotions and mixed up thoughts. For many there were no words, no neat explanations, no clear way through the loss, the sadness and the mess. Like one of her characters Freddie, there have been so many times in the past months when I have just wanted to scream a very loud expletive at the top of my voice.
I am still struggling with words, both in my head and in print. The pandemic has shaken my foundations – there could be cracks, I daren’t look too closely – but they are still standing at the moment. Let’s see what happens next and where we are at the end of the summer.
One phrase has been going round my head for the past few days #inthefather’shands. I’ve found when I lack words, I can trust in God’s Word to help me keep taking the next step.
“…no one can snatch them out of my Father’s hand.” John 10.29
rachelfarmer 