蜜芽传媒

I am not a patient man.

But I am quite capable of mistaking idleness for patience.聽聽It鈥檚 a clever trick. The mark of my last year has often been to do nothing and to think I鈥檓 patiently biding my time whereas in fact, I鈥檓 just impatiently and fretfully getting nothing done, hoping things will get better all by themselves and when they do, I鈥檒l be ready for them.

But this week, I鈥檓 back in Oxford, physically back at work.聽聽And am I ready?

Not sure.

Now there鈥檚 a lake in the park near my house, and at its edge, right by a busy path, a pair of swans have made their nest. The council has built a little fence to give them some privacy, but they鈥檙e still never more than a couple of feet from me as I cycle past.

Even so, even so close to people and noise and bikes, for the past six weeks the swans have been taking turns to sit on a clutch of five big grey eggs, waiting for them to hatch.聽聽I know this because I鈥檝e watched them. So I also know that they鈥檙e not just waiting.

I鈥檝e watched them in sunshine and rain, at morning, noon and night, and they never stop their vigilant work, no matter what.聽聽They keep the eggs safe, nudging them together if they roll apart, laying new reeds in the nest, switching places, giving each other a break,聽聽waiting patiently, patiently, for their brood to hatch.

The early Christian teacher, St Paul, wrote a wise thing to his friends in Rome.

鈥淚f we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience鈥�

Now that seems simple: of course we wait with patience.

But I don鈥檛 reckon Paul meant my kind of patience, waiting idly for the world to change so we can step back into it.聽聽He meant swan patience, the kind of patience where, as we wait, we continue to love and support each other, to do what鈥檚 necessary day by day; to repair our nests and watch over whatever, whoever is more vulnerable than we are.

And when we do that, and the thing we hope for, normality perhaps, eventually arrives, I think that like the swans (and unlike me), we鈥檒l be ready for it.