Healing and Hope by the River Hull

The morning after a deluge, it was good to be walking in the sun by the River Hull with Gillian. Talking as we listened, listening as we talked, passing by boats, ducks, a small marina, Beverley Minster in the far distance.

Conversation ranging from prisons to arch-bishops to the pace of the river to St John of Beverley to care homes to choirs to communites to mental health to cats to Christmas to Hull and the journeys that led us both there.

Mine has been one of ebb and flow for nearly 40 years. First coming to Hull as a young teenager, staying with friends made at a festival.  Back again at 18, just after leaving college. Three months of Spiders, the Welly Club, Silhouette, the Adelphi, Pipers. Then back again a decade later to join in with Cathy Beynon and the Powerpoint Project on Longhill. Helping with Tots Groups at Link-up, lunchtime clubs in the schools, puppet shows, holiday clubs, crafts, parachute games, drama.

Back then I was fresh from travelling far and wide with a mission organisation and as a student. Leading teams of young people across Europe. Studying at the University of Cairo. Researching the feasibility of a millet grinding project in Burkina Faso. I thought I had so much to offer, so much to bring. And yet my first recollection is of Barbara and Karen thrusting a broom into my hand. All my good ideas meant nothing if I wasn't prepared to sweep the floors and muck in.

Suffice to say, Hull has been a levelling place over the years. A grounding, raw, exposing, hard, humbling place. As well as a rich and hopeful one. 

This is what I found myself saying to Gillian anyway. Reflecting on what, above all else, has been a healing journey. Hull being a place where you can't really hide that well. Sooner or later things surface. There's an honesty here that calls things out and in my experience, it's best to go with it. And let the healing happen. 

Which is what we found ourselves praying for the city. For healing. For wholeness. For projects to flourish from a place of healing and relationship. Like the Food Community on Bilton Grange. Not because of having loads of money thrown at them. And funders thinking they know what's best. But tending to the wounds of communities, of families, of people, of ourselves. Listening and learning from each other. All of us helping each other grow and become. 

We could have gone on. For a long way by the river, for a long while musing and chatting. But time was pressing so we made our way back. Our boots clogged with mud. But our hearts full. Both lifted and lightened by our time together. And hopeful for things to come.

Fiona P