I looked up at our rainbow in the window today – a symbol of hope – and thought how scruffy it’s looking 12 weeks into lockdown. It’s had the blind scuff it on its way up and down over 168 times. It’s been weathered by over 84 days of paint-fading sun. It’s had A’s little hands examine (rip) it most days in curiosity and mischief. It looks so worn and tired. Adjectives I am identifying with so much this week!
But I don’t think hope is ever clean cut, shiny or separate. I think hope lives in the mass of uncertainty like determined roots of a flower in a bramble-filled field.
When hope feels faded, ripped and scruffy I hope you know its very real presence, clinging to the window.