So there wasn’t quite a Christmas miracle. Just more confusion. I think (and to be honest, I need to call the solicitor later) that we can exchange, the funds are ready and so is the chain… apart from what the emails yesterday called the ‘intransigence’ of the people at the top of the chain, who for some reason are only now just realising that they’ve got a week to empty their house.
This whole process has been horrible. I once described it as handing over a bag of emotions to someone and watching as they reach in at random to decide which one to give you next. Here, at the sticky end of this miserable wait, it’s more like somebody dangling hope in your face and then snatching it away when you reach out to take it - again and again and again. We were quite prepared for closure yesterday; then they told us it was close, then they told us that it wasn’t, and now today we’re close again. I can’t take much more dangling about.
Isn’t there supposed to be a redemption-story in those movies? You know, like a grumpy old man who rescues a girl from a frozen lake and turns out to be a war hero. Or a mean lady, who has a change of heart on Christmas Eve and rips up that business contract after all? Where’s that character? Where’s our snowy denouement?
Well it’s not too late, I guess. As they say at my local Pentecostal deliverance centre, “God is an eleventh hour God, glory to God.”
I get it Pentecostals, you can put your arms down. Just sometimes I wish God could also be a 2pm-nice-and-early-so-you-can-stop-worrying-all-day God as well. But you know, I think he’s clever enough to be both. And what the Pentecostals know for sure is that we can trust him. So amen to that brother-sisters. Amen to that.
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