Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns
If you think Jesus would have come into your home that day and not issued a strong rebuke to the head of household, you are mistaken. These words of condemnation have been haunting me for days now. They aren’t all that different than the soundtrack I play in my head on an almost-daily basis. It’s…
I am nesting. On Saturday I emptied the refrigerator. Last summer’s homemade pickles in their jars. The bread ends that seem to multiply on every shelf. The eggs. The milk. The fruit and veggies. All of it sat on the floor or the counter as I carefully removed the shelves and wiped them down with…
I’ve heard that life is like a highway. And it definitely seems like that sometimes. The pace of life swirls around me at dizzying speeds. We’re all so busy. In such a hurry. Always somewhere to be, something else to do. I’m a get-to-the-point, get-there-quick kind of girl. I don’t like to waste time on…
I don’t know about you but my anxiety is peaking right now. I took half a Xanax yesterday morning for the first time in months because I could feel the pressure building in my chest. It sits there like a heavy weight I can’t shake off and when it doesn’t go away after 30-45 minutes, I start to wonder if it’s going to plague me all day. Some days I sense that I’ll get past it without medication. That if I just get moving with my day, it’ll go away. Other days, I sense that it’s going to be a rough day without it. Yesterday, it was the latter feeling that won.
Yes, I am worried about coronavirus, specifically COVID-19 and its rapid spread across the globe. I don’t want to lose you here because I know there are a lot of BIG FEELINGS about what’s happening right now. My 10-year-old son is borderline depressed because all the watchable sports are cancelled, and my husband is looking for a new hobby (because, sports). Last night, I countered my anxiety by watching Bob Ross episodes on Netflix and trying to write my way out of these feelings instead of eating my way through them. Our daughter seems to be handling this the best so far, but she’s 12 now, and I expect the emotions are brimming at the surface. (Her field trip for today was cancelled due to COVID-19 and a statewide halt on large group gatherings, so we’ll see how she takes the news.)
If I’m honest, it’s not the virus itself that worries me, although I do fear for family and friends who would be at risk of serious illness or death if they contracted it. I spoke with my grandmother last night who volunteers at a hospital and she has already been instructed not to keep doing that if a confirmed case appears there. What worries me more is all the disruption to my normal way of life. I know this is a very privileged thing to say, and I almost hate that it’s the thing that’s causing me anxiety. But it is. Here is a list of my worries, however small they may seem to you:
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At church on Sunday, we sang hymns a cappella, a practice I’m usually excited about, but the second hymn we sang left me mute because I couldn’t sing the words. I didn’t believe they were true.
Not a shadow can rise,
Not a cloud in the skies,
But His smile quickly drives it away;
Not a doubt or a fear,
Not a sigh or a tear,
Can abide while we trust and obey.
It’s the last half of that verse from “Trust and Obey” that had me almost shaking my head right there in the middle of the singing. Did the hymn writer really believe that if we trusted and obeyed God we would haven’t any doubts, fears, sighs or tears? Maybe. But I sure don’t. It almost made me mad because I know there were people in church on Sunday, myself included, who had one or more of those things–doubts, fears, sighs, tears–and still felt they were trusting God.
Jesus wept with the grieving, even when he knew resurrection was coming. He showed mercy to those who doubted, abiding with them in their questions. I don’t believe that faith and doubt are mutually exclusive. I don’t believe that trust and obedience drive out all doubts, fears, sighs and tears. I believe we can both believe and doubt; cry and trust; fear and obey.
So, I want to say this to you because I need to say it to myself: It’s okay to not be okay right now. You can still have a strong belief in God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit and be afraid of the times we are living in. You can be anxious and still trust Him.
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I wasn’t sure I needed to put this in writing, but my anxiety was amplified after a trip to the salon yesterday. My daughter and I were both way overdue for haircuts, and it worked out that we got an appointment on her birthday. While she was getting her new ‘do, I was listening to the conversations. Of course people were talking about coronavirus. A man was scrolling his Facebook newsfeed and suddenly invoked Psalm 91 from the Bible, or what he thought was Psalm 91. “No plague on this house!” he declared, pointing to the door of the salon. Honestly, it sounded more like something you’d hear in a Shakespearean play than in church. I’m not sure what reactions my face betrayed at this spectacle. To be sure he had the right words, this man asked his phone to read him Psalm 91. He seemed to believe the act of speaking these ancient words would somehow keep him and this place safe from the coronavirus.
This is some of what the psalm says:
Surely he will save you
from the fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.
I have no problem with someone taking comfort from these words, but I wonder if they truly believe that God will spare some people over others because of their faith in Him. If someone is afraid of “the plague that destroys at midday” does that mean they haven’t take refuge in God? If they are struck by a deadly pestilence, does that mean they are unbelieving?
And if merely speaking words made something true, would we not all go around declaring health and well-being for ourselves and our friends and family? The Bible is not a spell book and its verses are not incantations. I know that sounds sacrilegious but I don’t think that’s what the Bible is for. Maybe I’m wrong, but this man’s actions brought to mind the hymn we’d sung, and I can’t help but think that these sorts of things are what discourage people rather than encourage them.
There are other passages of the Bible that talk about the rain falling on the righteous and unrighteous in equal measure. I do not believe the God who sent Jesus into the world with a message of love, mercy and grace sends diseases into that same world to wipe out the wicked. Maybe that’s not what we’re saying either when we sing that song or speak Bible verses over a place of business or residence, but I know what can happen to a person’s faith when they believe they’ve done and said all the right things and personal disaster still strikes.
We have enough to worry about right now, so if you’re a person of faith struggling with the messages you’re hearing/reading/seeing about the virus these days, I want to say again what I said earlier: It’s okay to not be okay right now. You can still have a strong belief in God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit and be afraid of the times we are living in. You can be anxious and still trust Him.
Also, if you or someone you love contracts the virus, it’s not because God is punishing you. (Sometimes I wonder why we have to say these things, but I know that’s what I thought for a long time: I screwed up. I didn’t do enough for Him. So, He’s mad at me. Toss those thoughts right out of your mind. They’re not true.)
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I don’t want to live my life in fear. Sometimes I feel like my opposite response to that is to stick my head in the sand and pretend nothing’s wrong. If I can’t see the news about the coronavirus, it doesn’t exist!
It is okay to withdraw for a while, and it is okay to have fears and worries. What I’m striving for is a middle ground–to live in such a way that I am informed and cautious, caring about the health and vitality of those around me while not being so afraid of what’s to come that I’m hoarding supplies like the zombie apocalypse is upon us. I’m washing my hands and trying not to touch my face with my hands, but I’m also in a school every day with kids I care about whose needs are often greater than I can meet. I don’t always get to wash my hands as often as I want to. And even when I tell myself not to pick up their pencils or go through their binders, I do it anyway because it’s part of my job. (A job that doesn’t have paid sick time, I should add.)
If I end up not working, I will trust even as I fear. If I end up sick, I will trust even as I fear. When I doubt and cry and sigh, I will not believe that I have been abandoned. I will trust that God draws near in those times.
—
How are you today? If you’re not okay, it’s okay.
How can I help? What words of comfort, assurance or commiseration do you need to hear? I’m here for you.
The alarm went off at its usual time, 5:40 a.m., and I couldn’t get out of bed. I was physically capable. That wasn’t the problem. It was inside my head where the problem lay.
The weight of the previous days was like a crushing force holding me down. I couldn’t lift it myself. I didn’t want to get out of bed or go to work or do anything except curl up under the covers and sleep the day away. Maybe with a side of Netflix and chocolate. I knew that wouldn’t cure me, but I couldn’t make myself engage in life. Disengagement is my go-to coping mechanism when life is overwhelming and for whatever reason, that was the day that it all combined to overwhelm me.
But I made the first move toward overcoming these feelings: I told my husband how I was feeling. And he spoke words of life and love to me and helped me release the overwhelming emotions. Then I took a shower. It helped but it wasn’t the cure. I kept moving, going through the morning motions of eating breakfast, drinking coffee, getting dressed and making lunch. I drove to work listening to the one song that always fights the darkness inside of me. It is as much a prayer for me as a song, and it had been too long since I listened to it.
I was feeling better but not great when I arrived at work and my first duties of the day are usually in solitude, so I continued my attempts to shine light on the darkness.
//
This new medication I’m on, the one the nurse injected into my backside to help treat my endometriosis, I think it’s messing with my moods. I haven’t noticed any strong side effects–the occasional hot flash, a feeling of perpetual PMS–but this dark mood made me wonder if the medicine was to blame.
I hoped it was because the darkness scared me. I’m not prone to long bouts of depression. I have the occasional despairing moment but it hardly ever lasts longer than a day or two. A good night’s sleep. Some self-care practices. A run or walk outside. These are usually the things that get me through the dark moments. And the will to just keep going. It didn’t feel like me to not want to keep going.
For this reason, I’m grateful for my job. It forces me to keep going. I move from class to class every 43 minutes and no day is ever truly the same because the personalities I encounter are never the same, and I like it because it’s challenging. The previous two days had been some of the most challenging of my short educational career, and I didn’t know if I wanted to continue doing the work that I have found so much joy in.
When these days come, and they always hit at some point in the school year because education is a mentally exhausting profession, some positive thing happens to remind me that it’s worth it to keep going. I longed for such a sign on the day I wanted to give up.
And I got it. From the unlikeliest source.
I did nothing to deserve it, and I didn’t make it happen. It was a gift, plain and simple, and it got me through the day.
//
By the time my work day ended, I was feeling more like myself. And I took myself out for the afternoon to work on writing projects that just don’t get the attention they deserve. I spent almost three hours at Panera, writing and responding to messages and generally feeling like me again. I almost floated home, I was so full of light and goodness.
Not all was well when I got home. Nothing major just the usual frustrations that come from parenting after school and cooking dinner. My husband was in the midst of both of those tasks, and the darkness tried to creep back in, trying to convince me I’d been selfish to take all that time to myself. (The darkness is a liar. Don’t listen to it.)
We managed the evening routine without too much trouble.
//
The next morning I wanted to do something for my students who had earned a lunch party in our classroom. They’d begged for this specific kind of donuts, and I hadn’t signed up for anything to bring to the party. I left the house early for work, drove 15 minutes to the bakery and snuck a dozen of the famous-to-Lancaster-County long johns into the school. I didn’t want anyone to see me bringing them in. I wanted to surprise the kids.
When the teacher I work with saw the donut box not long after I’d arrived, she asked me about them. I told her I’d found them in the parking lot with a note attached instructing they be delivered to our room and it was my duty to comply.
The kids ate them up. Literally. I told them the donut fairy had delivered them but of course they knew better.
It was something I felt I had to do. The darkness inside of me had affected my relationships with my students earlier in the week. We are halfway through the year, and it is hard on all of us. Maybe they didn’t deserve the donuts, but I gave them to them anyway.
Grace is often like that, and I needed it as much as they did.
//
For now, the darkness is at bay. I wouldn’t say it has left completely, but getting out of bed isn’t a problem and getting on with the work in front of me isn’t a problem. I’m struggling with some health and body image feelings, but I need to keep reminding myself that the year is still young. It’s only been two-and-a-half months since my surgery, not even a month since I’ve been exercising regularly again. Last fall took a toll on my body, and it will take time to get back to where I was.
In the meantime, my clothes don’t fit right and my body doesn’t feel right, and my doctor and I are trying to find a way to keep me off my blood pressure medication, and I’m doubting the possibility because I have an anxious nature.
One day, I wanted to give up.
It was just one day.
The next day was better, and the one after that.
It won’t always happen like that. For some us, the days we want to give up outnumber the days we don’t.
Can you just hold on for one more day? (Yes, I have that Wilson Phillips song in my head now too.) And one more after that?
