Hi friends,

I woke up this morning feeling as though the walls of our house were a little thicker, a little heavier, a little closer. Our home is still a place of comfort, yes, but goodness, these walls have experienced what feels to be years of life over the past six days. It’s amazing how slowly time passes when it is laced with uncertainty. But we are ok. More than ok, really. I hope you are all ok too.

In many ways, this last week has felt like a sharpening of focus. Our choices have been minimized – how and where and what – and instead we have been asked to choose the health of the whole rather than the comfort and freedom of one. I’m more than willing to make this choice, but I admit that at times it has still felt scary, uncomfortable, and inexplicably cumbersome. I don’t like to admit this, as it feels selfish to say, but it has felt surprisingly hard to stand-by and, well, just… wait. I am not very good at waiting. I value action and movement and marked visible progress, often to a fault. (I think that this is mostly rooted in my own self-preservation against my tendency towards sadness and melancholy – healthy action keeps the brain busy and with it, emotional patterns follow.) But in this season of things, my ability to “take action” looks a bit different.  And so, with all of the fear and uncertainty and information swirling, it has been difficult for me to recalibrate and wrap my brain around the idea that the waiting – the shifting of the how and where and what – is actually the most helpful and generous thing that we can do.  

And so, of course, we wait. We take it hour by hour, day by day. We spend our time doing the small things that maybe have slipped through the cracks until now – the chores around the house, the book we meant to read, the phone call we meant to make, the closet we meant to sort. We take deeper breaths and longer walks and notice the in-between things that suddenly seem sweeter. We mourn and we laugh and we celebrate because life is still happening all around. It has not stopped even though we have been asked to distance ourselves from one another. The daily rhythm still exists. We check in on our friends who are nurses and doctors and grocery-store workers and truck drivers. We check in on our hairstylists and city workers and local restaurant and small business owners. We tell them thank you, over and over again, and we do what we can to provide support from our homes. And we will wake up tomorrow and do it all over again. We will do all of this and then we will wait- until we are asked to do otherwise.

I don’t take for granted that Rob and I are some of the very lucky ones. We have jobs that allow us to work remotely. We have health insurance. We have enough food in our cabinets. We have a backyard that we can sit in and a neighborhood that is green and blooming and is begging for long walks. We have family that we can check in with and dogs that make our hearts happy and friends that we can call when we need a big laugh. We have access to the internet and piles of books and at least six rolls of toilet paper. The good is still very much there. And it’s not hard to find. It’s just that sometimes the scary stuff is a bit louder and trickier to mute, especially when the world is simultaneously shaking and standing still. What an unexpected place to be, yes?

But I know that many are not as lucky as us. Many are struggling with the kind of uncertainty that is crippling and not just temporarily uncomfortable. Many have very real needs with no clear solutions available. And many are unsure of what steps to take when, in many ways, we have been asked to not take any steps at all. It can feel overwhelming to know how to respond, especially when things seem to be changing quickly and swiftly. I want to do my best to continue and try to meet practical needs, yes. But I am also realizing that this is an unprecedented time to practice patience. And compassion. And forgiveness. And grace. I’m working hard to remember that we are all new to this “pandemic” stuff and that in the midst of this kind of fear, it is easy for tongues to be sharp and thoughts to be muddled. Neighbors will be rude. Co-workers will be frustrating. Children will make you want to hide and never emerge. Spouses will make you want to gouge out eyeballs (lovingly, of course.) We will make mistakes, oh-so-many, and some days, it will be all we can do to just get through the damn thing. But, if we can spend our waiting hours being kinder to the people around us, it will not have been in vain. Because there is still a lot of ourselves to give, even when stuck in our homes and small places – especially when stuck in our homes and small places.

From our house to yours, know that you are all in my prayers, on my mind, and ever-present in my waiting. I’m grateful for the chance to pause and take a long, measured look around. I’m keeping my eyes open for the generous, kind, helpful, graceful, juicy stuff, and trust that you are all doing the same. In the meantime, will you let me know how I can help? Will you share ways that I can be holding you close? Will you show me what you’ve been working on, creating, writing, dreaming? Will you point out the victories, no matter how small or insignificant? This introvert wants to help you celebrate (from the CDC-mandated 6-foot distance, of course.) Let’s all be better, together, and make space for the powerful good to rise to the top. I absolutely trust that it will.

In the meantime, chins up, friends, and let’s keep those hands thoroughly washed.

All my love,

Me (in the time of COVID-19)