I’m writing his blog post during the sporting peak of summer with both World Cup football and tennis at Wimbledon dominating the media. I know nothing about football and very little about tennis but, because normal TV schedules have been disrupted, I’ve found myself catching a few minutes of pre- or post-match discussion in both sports occasionally.
One of the things which football analysts seem to mention is the flow, (or sometimes the lack of it), in a game. Whether you’re sporty or not, isn’t it easy to take the flow of everyday life for granted; the daily routines we follow, hardly registering them until something happens to pull us up short?
In various sports, players are trained to expect the curve balls the match or game may produce. Often acting instinctively and quickly, they set themselves up to overcome them based on their previous training and experience, perhaps even capitalising on what has happened by scoring a goal or winning a point.
Recently I experienced the sudden landing of a personal curve ball. My husband died very unexpectedly, ironically while on his way to a sports match, not football or tennis, but the sport he loved: bowls. Although he had several ongoing health conditions, he wasn’t showing any specific symptoms of ill health and therefore his death was a real shock for me and everyone who knew him.
In the first few days, with so much admin to wade through and arrangements to make, I sometimes felt as though I was facing one of those machines which fire tennis balls in quick succession to test a player’s reactions. The prayer and practical support of many good friends helped carry me through that time. Now, eight weeks later and after a few, unrelated but unforeseen, domestic curve balls, I’m starting to get into the flow of my ‘new normal’ life on my own.
Images of water, whether streams, rivers or seas, have always been a calming constant flowing through many of my spiritual reflections. About two weeks before my husband’s death, I was told by someone I had only met once before that they could sense how important water was to me and that I was about to be swept through much more turbulent water.
I’m fascinated by the way that when a fast flowing stream, meets an obstacle such as a boulder, it becomes two streams which move round the obstacle and then come back together to continue downstream. The rocks interrupt the stream but don’t block it completely.
I’ve felt buffeted and bruised recently as I’ve been squeezed through the gaps between rocks which have come in the shape of problems and adjustments of various kinds. Yet when I’ve looked down, I’ve always seen clear water and, through that, the bedrock of my faith which has continued to carry me forwards.
Up ahead, as I move more fully into my new life, I can see the stream begin to widen out and the water flow more gently. I give thanks for being supported and held thus far and, though I miss the married life I was living only a few weeks ago, I look forward with hope that I may walk ‘in green pastures…. beside quiet waters’ for the next season.
For anyone reading this post on their own bereavement journey, I pray God’s blessing, hope and comfort.
Sunlight Through the Shadows 