When you read this, Canada’s general election will be over. But at this moment, a few days before, I write live from the state of Uncertainty. As it often does in other circumstances – health, relationships, transitions, for instance, it has opened its gate and summoned our country in. Me, too.
For over four years, at my workplace in town, I’ve had the privilege of serving a good man. An honest politician (yes, thank God, many still exist). But after twenty-two years on Ottawa’s Parliament Hill, he has come home to stay. A new Member of Parliament will serve our riding. That means we all begin new chapters; our country, our riding, my boss, my co-workers and me. Like a previously unread book, the pages remain as unfamiliar as the new look in the offices we’ve worked in all these years. I barely recognize the local one.
As have many political staffers across the country, we’ve sorted, shredded and packed. Vacated desks and emptied bookshelves. Moved everything out, flipped off the lights and turned the keys one last time. The place echoes now, all evidence of its most recent occupants erased. No big desks or ringing phones. No maps on walls or flags in corners. No plants flourishing in the windows. And no more constituents calling or visiting to ask for help.
There’s a funny thing about this state. On sunlit days it seems fairly negotiable. People smile. Say hello. Wish each other the best. Even pray together sometimes. In sunshine, in the state of Uncertainty, happy endings feel almost certain.
But Uncertainty has a seamy side. Shady characters walk its streets at night. Gangs of negative thoughts cluster like vermin and twist their knives in the gut of worriers. Neck-craning anxiety patrols thought trails, shooting fretful darts and firing unanswerable questions. Sleep is banned. In my previous visits to Uncertainty, I’ve faced all of that. Likely you have too.
“What’s next for Canada?” people ask each other. “What’s next for you?” friends ask me. By the time you read this, we’ll all have some answers – and many more questions.
My earlier visits to Uncertainty have taught me something, though. When I stop pouting, cowering and conniving and start praying, I remember that I am a woman of faith, with a very big God. He has unfailingly proven himself trustworthy, even when hovering on the jagged escarpment of bewilderment and despair.
As I said before, I’m writing live from the state of Uncertainty. A frightening place, where faith in God is mandatory to maintain the keeping of inner peace. Because for those with faith, the state of Uncertainty becomes a corridor to great opportunity. A place to shuck fears, take action and grow stronger in our faith. A place to remember that the God is bigger than any state, especially the state of Uncertainty. That all authority, hoped for or not, rests on his shoulders alone. For His “is the kingdom, the power and the glory forever and ever. Amen.”
