One day, there will be a day when I leave my house and I don't fear the judgment of the cars around me or the friend on the other line. This day, I can shop and eat and hike with no fear of contamination or exposure.
One day, we will walk the halls of our respective work- schools, offices, stores, ministries, and more- with a pep in our step and a gratefulness for the people around us. Our district experienced this at the beginning of the year after our strike, and our building experienced it at a deeper level after the loss of our coworker at the same time. Friends, when that moment is over, remember how you feel. That gratitude could change your world.
One day, I will sit on the couch of my two dearest friends and hold their twin girls. Note that these two couches are different- I'm scared for what was in the water at my wedding! I will snuggle Audrey and Hazel and Jemma and Evie and be so dang grateful that I actually get to hold them in the flesh. While I anxiously await the day that the snuggling happens on my own couch, I am finding gratitude in the fact that I am not anxiously navigating pregnancy and COVID-19 at the same time.
One day, we will celebrate the anniversaries and birthdays that got pushed to the wayside. We will hug our students, go to happy hour with our friends, meet with our small groups, and buy all the damn toilet paper and eggs that we want.
But right now...
Right now, we dig in where we're at. We become professionals at using Zoom and we get in WAY over our heads with our big doe-eyes and our Pinterest-inspired remodel projects (read: Kathy attempts to paint the whole house by herself because social distancing is a thing and she has a meltdown by Day 3). We use Walmart grocery pick-up and we realize that the high school shelf-stockers at the store have become some of our most valued, brave, and under-appreciated members of society. We drop things off on the porch of our friends and we wave from the car because it's all we can do. We play some Mario Kart, go on an excessive number of walks, do Barre and yoga and Peleton and all the other online workouts that are suddenly available... and then we mourn all the things we're missing. This space is holy and healing, but it's also HARD.
In the midst of it all, people are SICK. While we live in our altered realities, they live in theirs- and we have to know that at any point, they could be us and we could be them. Will I forever regret that trip to Home Depot or Target? Did I get too close to someone on a walk? Should I have kept the cookies for myself? We feel frustrated because our lives look different, but this is all so trivial to the fact the people are losing their lives from a virus that seemingly can't be contained. How do we hold both realities in our hand, knowing that we are so lucky but also so not?
Ultimately, I write this from a place of privilege. While I have a job that allows me to stay at home and still receive pay, I know that this is not the reality for many. It feels as though there are so many needs right in front of me and I know how to meet very few of them. I think about my students, both current and former, for whom this is not the case... Are they eating? Are their parents angry because they are stressed? Do they still know that they are loved? In this season, I don't get the option of knowing any of these answers.
There are so many quotes around and quips of encouragement that are meant to put us at ease in this time of uncertainty. While I appreciate the sentiment and even believe them to (typically) be true, a "quick fix" of truth is not what I need in this time. I need to sit, wrestle, and grieve through it all. I need to be grateful for this time and simultaneously pained for what it took to get it. I need to trust that God knows what He's doing, but not let that take away the reality that it's still hard and scary as hell. I need to wake up and face the day- one day at a time- grateful for my health, connected to my people, and with a reality that if life hurts, that probably means we're doing it right. Ultimately, I need to know that this is so much bigger than me- it always has been and it always will be.
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