carrots

There have been some definite perks to this beyond-unanticipated transition from classroom to online schooling. The flexibility for twice-daily goat milking sessions, for one. And the chance to cook for, and dine with, my husband on a daily basis again.
That said, the work has to be done. The usual amount of daily work, plus the added amount we currently have, in order to make up for the week of “spring break” while the online transition was being figured out on an administrative level.
So how do I keep motivated to barrel through full days in front of a computer and a stack of textbooks when some significant, and emotionally powerful, “carrots” have been stripped from the list of things that used to keep me motivated on a daily basis (read: “a place to swim”!)?
Well—find new carrots, right?
What keeps coming to mind is a train of people held close to my heart, if I cannot hold them “close” to my person these days: those who are on the font lines right now . . . the healthcare workers risking their own health, both physically and emotionally, as they war against the raging virus wreaking havoc on our entire globe. “Courage, dear heart” I know I blogged about this C.S. Lewis quote recently, but I cannot help but repeat it now, on behalf of those I love who are doing what others of us can only think of/pray for from a safe 6 feet distance away ;-) And, I cannot help but add my own self-centered prayer that maybe, just maybe (sooner than later?), I’ll get to join in on the fight.

soup

“How did you spend your Spring Break?” The simple, standard sort of question this year gives me a sobering pause. At the moment I am brutally aware of my narrow band of comfort, in which I am usually quite adept at positioning myself squarely inside of. I never have enough time to get all the items on my checklist accomplished, so find each day filled to the gills. And yet now, when life has become an enforced “Lent” from the sorts of things I generally do, I find the extra time to be decidedly less than desirable. The hour in which I would usually be swimming is one of the hardest ones. And this, I realize, is a shameful thing to admit when the world is full of such loss right now … for me to be saddened by my craving for a lap in the pool is self-centered, I know. But there it is.
What I’ve taken to doing, to try to ease this angst, is to waken each day with a question: an openness to discover what that particular day’s “one thing” will be. In other words, I wait to see what particular event or discovery will create a sense of accomplishment for that day that I may not have noticed had I been going about routines as usual.
Yesterday that one thing was goat food; I’d begun to fear that, with all the closures, I’d be out of luck in getting the usual supply for our beer-grain-loving kids. But I was unexpectedly successful yesterday, thanks to a heavy dose of luck (combined, admittedly, with a little bit of bold persistence).
Today the one thing turned out to be one of my new normals-the daily chat with GramBea. While we talked today, it occurred to me that something about the inability to visit combined with our similar feelings about this whole situation has brought a sweetness to our conversations-an ability to just be on the phone with each other, even if neither of us has anything worth saying (those who know either GramBea or me, regarding phone call habits, might realize the groundbreaking nature of this observation 😉).
Oh, and tomato soup. I guess I got a double dose for my one thing today. Just because it sounded good to me, I made up a chunky tomato soup recipe for us that, dare I say, is currently filling our home with a rather mouthwatering aroma.
Soup. Simply soup. So be it.

bloom

Coming in from milking the goat this afternoon I sighed, and warned Peter that I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired for cooking. Along with all other routines being taken away, my habitual kitchen habits feel lackluster. “Don’t be surprised,” I added, if we sit down at the dinner table to a bowl of popcorn (I have, after all, mastered the art of “perfect popcorn,” as a few of my friends can attest to). Peter shrugged at the idea, saying that it would make sense to him … don’t people generally eat popcorn when watching a drama unfold?
It took me a moment to figure out what he meant, since we have neither TV nor internet at home. But as soon as I got it, I gasped. “That’s exactly what this is: we are all unwitting cast members in a global performance of the most riveting-and most horrific-suspense one could imagine!”
Blurting out these words felt like a relief somehow-a slight release of the internal pressure. I still hate it. But defining the feeling for at least our little household is a bit of a balm …for today.
I guess the best we can do is try to make something good out of this one day, with this single day’s information and subsequent decisions. We might not be making the best possible calls; yet hopefully tomorrow we’ll be strong enough to do it again, with whatever new information we can, and whatever little bit of new wisdom we’ve gained, trusting that it’s good enough simply because it’s the best we can do.
And we just might discover that, in the midst of it all, we are coming home to discover newly-bloomed tulips…

fall

And, as if the world were not falling to pieces around us, the sun sets in its usual glory this evening. My husband and I eat a normal dinner together and we sit quietly together … as usual. As if the world were not falling to pieces around us…
Lord have mercy on us as we step forward into this terrifying new normal. Let it not fall to pieces around us; yet if it does, grant us the grace to fall to pieces together, holding hands as we fall.

courage

“This is so awful,” she said, as I talked to her on the phone this evening. “Yes, GramBea. I’m having a hard time feeling positive too.” And it’s true. I don’t like this. At all. I hate it. And yes, I’m afraid. Who isn’t, though?
She kept on, after that. “It’s real quiet here.” I’d asked about the activities and, as I suspected, along with no visits from outside, there are no internal activities anymore either-no Bingo, or exercise classes. But this afternoon she got her walk. They told her she wasn’t allowed to go out but she argued till they let her walk the perimeter of the building. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree 😉
As I was saying, though…”it’s real quiet here. Just pray I can sleep tonight.”
Yes, GramBea, I will pray that. For myself as well as for you.
Then she added, “but you know, the light in my bathroom is working, so I can see if I need to get up in the night. So that’s a good thing…”
Indeed. That’s a good thing. The thought gave me pause when I realized the gravity underneath that observation: I have lived in places where power was not a given. And in this new reality we all find ourselves in, is the electricity that powers our lights, our refrigerators, our ovens, our cell phones … our internet, not a life-giving gift?
This morning I was listening to NPR and heard that, in Spain, where the entire nation is in quarantine, they come out of their houses each night at 8:00pm, and collectively cheer. In a circumstance in which one would be sorely tempted to rebel altogether, if not at least harbor a good deal of resentment, the nation is expressing collective solidarity, and gratitude for the health care workers who remain on the front lines. This bit of news gave me a humbling pause in the midst of my own bad attitude today over the loss of my routines.
This is madness. I don’t understand it. But no one does. So may we each give each other grace upon grace in the midst of the madness.
“Courage, dear heart!”

walk

Yesterday evening, as Peter and I were hanging out in the yard with the goats, I mentioned to him a guide I had seen for coping with Coronavirus as a faith community. He responded that we are all, globally, practicing Lent as a result of this madness. Perhaps, as he commented, “the world just needs a vacation.”
Yes, perhaps so. Perhaps we all needed to take a collective breath of air. Perhaps we all needed to stop and question where we were heading at such a breakneck speed.
I don’t know. Who really does, though? This is uncharted territory for me. For my family. For our community. For our country. For our world.
With no basis for making any sort of real predictions or plans, what can we do?
One thing that I think we can safely prescribe, no matter what direction this all goes, is neighborly care. Throughout history, we have seen people rise to the occasion, in the midst of crisis, to rally together and help those in need. Starting with those closest to us. Starting with eyes open to see the needs we may be able to help fill.
Another thing we can do is carry on, as best we can, with the routines that bring life. When things fall apart, there are a whole lot of smart and creative people who know how to make things happen. This morning Peter and I got to attend a live stream of our church service, thanks to this sort of inventiveness. There, in our place of worship, our pastor stood at the pulpit and led us through the liturgies and lyrics that had been prepared in a bulletin as usual …but that instead would be followed by those of us able to participate in this virtual gathering. I am grateful for a church community wise enough to adapt to the situation…”this rather bizarre situation,” as our pastor aptly prayed. I am also grateful for the individuals skilled enough, and willing, to make it happen.
Whether or not we are willing, the fact is that we are all called to join in on this communal “flattening of the curve.”
For most of us this means some form of quarantine, be it for illness or the simple reality of life as we know it being put on hold.
For some of us this means kicking and screaming, internally if not externally, in the face of our worst fears (loss of routine, and loss of control). But I am also humbled by the privilege that allows me to feel this fear. My basic needs are more than met. I have health, a home, a husband … so much. So much more than I need.
Lord, let me walk through this season with eyes open to what You are calling me to. May I “do justly …love mercy… walk humbly with [my] God” (Micah 6:8).
And maybe walk with some pretty good looking goats (+husband?) while I’m at it 😉