The Way Ahead

 

There are bridges, and then there are bridges.

I am fan of the kind of robust, clearly engineered, stood-for-centuries kind of bridge.  Tower Bridge has never let me down yet.  There are solid little hump-backed bridges over rivers on Dartmoor that are pure delight and photogenic to boot.  However, there are also strange swing bridges, rope bridges that have more of the Indian Jones vibe about them. Of these I am not a fan.  Bridges that sway beneath my feet give me a most peculiar feeling somewhere in my tummy.  

Last year I discovered a bridge that was something else again: truly a wonder in the world of design.  It’s called the Sundial Bridge at Turtle Bay in California, and beneath it flows the mighty Sacramento River.  It makes complete sense to cross this bridge on foot in order to enjoy the panorama and take some photos.  

However, just a couple of steps into my foray across the bridge, I realised that the flooring is translucent.  It’s not as unnerving as the glass footbridge in a shopping centre in Pretoria, South Africa which I hate and always run across if compelled to take that route (yes, I know it makes no difference but the whole thing gives me the heebie-jeebies), and yet for me, it was highly disconcerting.  Neither is like the Boomslang Bridge in Kirstenbosch Gardens in Cape Town which sways as you walk along it but looks solid and has a convenient and comforting handrail to hold on to tightly should nausea arise.

This Californian design allows the sunlight to penetrate the water and is deemed to be more environmentally friendly for fish and flora below.  They seemed a long way below to me.

I’m sure a fear of heights has come on in the last few years.  Surely it’s only recently that I abseiled off Bath Abbey for charity…?  In the photo you can see one or two solid wood strips that run right across the bridge and, since it was too long as well as too searingly hot for me to run along it, I resolved to walk on those bits.  My head would thus be fooled into thinking this was more secure and a much better idea.

That theory held until I got to the metal support struts which not only penetrated the wood but disappeared directly down to the water below.  Things unravelled fast.

All this reminded me of how, when we set out in a piece of writing, we are often clueless as to how it will finally look.  We can see so far with our germ of an idea.  We have an inkling where it might take us, but it can be frustrating not to be clear.  We edge forward, sentence by sentence, grateful for every coherent paragraph that emerges and full of relief when and if we make it to the other side, finally typing ‘The End’.

For some that’s a great adventure, for others it’s more nerve-wracking.  For all of us, it’s a comfort to know we don’t walk the writing bridge alone but can put our hand firmly into the that of the One who’s led us faithfully to this point. 

As we either launch or stumble int to his new year (depending on personality, proclivity and circumstance), I’m trying to hold this truth close to both my head and my heart and see what unfolds over the next twelve months.

Jenny Sanders has spent the last twelve years living between the UK and South Africa. She writes faith-inspired non-fiction: Spiritual Feasting (2020) asks how we can ‘feast’ when life serves unpalatable menus; Polished Arrows (2024), explores the allegory of God shaping us to be fired effectively into our culture and contexts. 

                

Jenny also has two published collections of humorous short stories for Key Stage 2 children: The Magnificent Moustache and other stories, and, Charlie Peach’s Pumpkins and other stories. She is available for author visits and creative writing sessions in primary schools.  She loves walking in nature, preferably by a river, and has a visceral loathing for offal, pineapple and incorrect use of car indicators on roundabouts.