Conquering fear with love and cling film

Spring has almost arrived in South East England.
On the trees the buds of blossom are about to burst.
On the ground, wild hyacinths are beginning sprinkle the undergrowth with purple spears.
And up above, the skies are trying to turn a deeper shade of blue.
The world is about to be filled with colour and sunshine and nesting birds.
The evenings are about to become long and warmer and filled with laughter.
Spring is eternally, fear defyingly hopeful.
And if ever there was a time when we needed an infusion of hope, it's now.
Sometimes if feels that there is no way out of the misery and fear that is  engulfing our world.
Each day brings new stories of austerity cuts that seem to make the rich richer and the poor poorer.
Every piece of news is full of the tragic stories of refugees and migrants who didn't make it, of children's bodies being washed up on beaches, of small countries that can no longer cope with carrying the burden of other people's dreams.
And every morning we wake wondering if today will be the day the terrorists strike again, innocent people killed in a frenzy of someone else's religious fervour.
Sometimes the enormity of all that is wrong with the world can take your breath away.
Sometimes the sense of anger and injustice can be suffocatingly overwhelming.
But we cannot give up on hope.
Hope is the life-jacket that keeps us afloat amidst the debris and destructive detritus of war and politics and religious extremism. 

Sometimes it comes as a surprise that most of the time, with all these terrible things happening we live our normal lives.
Usually I spend more time worrying about whether to hang the washing inside or outside than what essential service the government will cut next.
Mostly I am more pre-occupied with what to cook for dinner than whether the next boatload of refugees and migrants  have made it safely to shore.
And generally I am more anxious about preparing my lectures, making sure the kids have eaten breakfast or remembering if I locked the back door, than wondering where the next suicide bomber will wreak their tragic havoc.
But perhaps that's just how we protect ourselves.
If we worry enough about the little things that we can do something about, then we don't have to think about the bigger things that we feel powerless to change.
" Why do you still make the kids packed lunches every day?" my husband asks, "they should make their own."
And he's right of course.  
At 16 and 18 they should be making their own lunches.
But knowing that I have done that one little thing every day to  help them, makes me feel better, wraps me in hope.
It's with such tiny acts of love that we will conquer fear.
It's by valuing all that is mundane in our daily lives that we can defy terrorism.
" Whatever you do," we are saying, " we will carry on living our lives. 
We will not stop loving  because you want us to hate.
We will not stop building bridges  because you want us to build barbed wire fences.
We will not stop hoping because you want us to fear.
We will not let our lives be consumed by all that is wrong in the world but will carry on celebrating all that is right.
And  so, for as long as they need me to, I will wrap my kids sandwiches in cling film and love - even if the fillings are very boring!

Because here's the thing.
The government might cut all our essential services until there is nothing left.
The refugees might keep arriving, searching for the life they deserve to live 
The terrorist might keep plotting to cause death and destruction.
But nothing, not politicians or wars or terrorism, can stop spring from arriving.
And this year, the blossom on our peach tree is going to be the fiercely vibrant, most deeply beautiful  pink it has ever been.