I’m in a period of limbo at the moment.

In every aspect of my life I feel as though I am waiting. In the immediate future, I am waiting for the end of term. I’m worn out, exhausted, harassed, already mentally in the vacation when I can set my own hours and dictate my own work. And sleep in a little longer in the mornings.

I am waiting for responses to applications: job applications for the summer, course applications for the autumn. On the outcome of those applications hinges my immediate and longer-term future; I want to start planning. I want to hunt for flats and know that I might really live in the ones I find. The ones I have already found, sage words of advice about counting unhatched chickens notwithstanding.

I’ve done everything possible to get onto the course in September, and now all I can do is wait and hope. After three rejections and one almost certain to come after a less-than-impressive interview, my hopes all rest on my fifth and final choice, a last-minute addition to the list. I hope and pray that the inspiration to add that fifth choice was divine.

My interview there was on Thursday, and on the short walk from the train station to the campus I passed a large, friendly-looking church. I walked its perimeter and examined the noticeboard, happy to see that it seemed to be my denomination and my distance “up the candle”. Since arriving home again I have visited their website and sent up a heartfelt prayer that this serendipitous find is another sign. Perhaps in six months that church will be my new worship-place.

I will know for sure by the end of the month. The summer jobs, too, will hopefully have replied by the time April dawns. It’s not bad timing, really. April is a good time to be looking for permanent jobs, if everything else has fallen through. It’s a good time to be looking for flats, a good time for thinking about new beginnings.

In just a few weeks I’ll know a little more certainly what the future holds. But for now, I am trying and struggling to trust that it will all be as it should. The disappointment of the most recent rejection after three months of optimistic hope has been somewhat assuaged by the new possibility of the final choice, but next time there will be no new possibility to take away the smart of an email telling me that my application has been unsuccessful. Or at least, none that I have found yet. But it’s there, somewhere. I am sure of that.