It’s winter in my home town, Cape Town, at present. Walking my two German Shepherd dogs on the mountain trails, I am fortunate enough to witness firsthand, nature in all her fury and finery. We have just endured a long drought on this piece of the planet. Water is a rare and precious commodity on the Southern tip of Africa and with even less rainfall than usual over the past eighteen months, I have watched the riverbeds dry out, the ravines turn to mud and then dry sand and the dogs have relied on me carrying water for them.
Midwinter. Early morning. Outside the first light of dawn chases the receding darkness. I slip into the water. Its crisp coldness is a shock. Then, without my having to give instruction, my body kicks in. It knows what to do in water. Feet kicking, arms stroking rhythmically. Before I have even recovered from the shock of the coldness, I am gliding through the water.
Continuing on our sojourn with purpose. Once we have established what it is and what it is not, (see my earlier blog post “Pondering Purpose“) How do we find it for ourselves? And what happens once we do? My answer to this won’t be pleasing to the young enthusiasts among you, but life has taught me that purpose is not like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Grace is like the incoming tide
Every wave new,
unique unto itself
but integrally part of a vast, seething whole.
It rolls in relentlessly
I have always told myself I have no right to be disappointed in someone else, as nobody owes me anything. Not that this means I have had the unique good fortune to avoid disappointment throughout my life. My seven year sojourn with infertility gave me very personal, first-hand experience of disappointment and its impact on our lives.