a pandemic love story

She rolls over and feels a cold space. Her heart skips a beat. Her bed hasn’t been empty for months now. Where is he? What’s happened? 

She hears his voice downstairs and relief fills her heart. His being home every day was the hardest transition of this pandemic life. They didn’t lose much, except his commute. He saw it as gaining time at home. She saw it as a loss of control. She used to be in charge during the day. With him at home, they now have to share.

Over time they’ve learned to talk about their feelings. Sadness over what they’ve lost—her book club and time alone, his commute and city bike rides, their Sunday mornings at church. Gratefulness too—more family time, more rest time, challenges that enable them to grow. They listen to each other more carefully. With more humility.

They’ve learned to respect each other’s dreams. He empowered her to write. She empowered him to play. They’ve learned to be together all the time, and how to take breaks, and that breaks are important.

She’s not sure how many more months they’ll have of this time together. Eventually, the world will go back to how it once was. He’ll wake up early to catch the train, making her coffee and leaving it in a travel mug on the counter before gently kissing her goodbye. He’ll lock up his bike and hop on the train and she’ll stay snug in bed.

One day the world will return to normal and they’ll miss this all-together time. They’ll look back on these days with memories of happiness and bliss. They’ll remember the challenges and celebrate how their love grew.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in this series "280 Words".

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My God, My God, Why Have You Forsaken Me?

You can find the transcript of this recording here.

On Giving Thanks in a Time Such As This

Yesterday I granted myself - and you - permission to grieve. Permission to feel anger and sadness. Permission to wonder all the terrible wonders that are rolling around in your head. Permission to admit that this is not normal. This is not our new normal. Don’t think of it like that … and ignore those people who do. Life will change after this, but I’m confident that the changes are going to be for the better in the long run.

So today, I’m turning the coin. I am - in true Pollyanna fashion - finding the good in the midst of this struggle. Because there’s always good. I’m looking at the ways in which our life might look different at the end of this - and giving thanks for the so many positives in my life.

I’m giving thanks for my husband’s job. A job where he can do all of his work remotely. A job that is secure and important and isn’t going anywhere in the midst of an economic downturn. A job where he is not on the frontlines. A job where he is allowed and encouraged to be safe, at home.

And because he’s not doing his usual commute, we have time every day to explore the hundreds of hiking trails around us. I’m giving so much thanks for the early Spring weather that has been gifted to us this year. Weather that’s allowing us to get outdoors and enjoy sunshine.

I’m celebrating the empty calendar. I made a list of all the things I’d do if I had no other obligations, and I’m crossing a few off each day. Yesterday I made homemade sourdough bread, preserved Meyer lemons, and Strawberry Lemon Marmalade. Today I have peach butter on the stove.

My heart is beyond full for my family - who taught me from a very early age how to store food during peak harvest seasons. My grandma and aunts taught me how to garden. My mom taught me how to can jams and jellies and peppers and salsa. I’ve been living this life of food preservation all my life - and now I know just how important it is.

I’m giving thanks for my local farms who provide good food for my family. CSAs who take such good care of us in peak harvest seasons that we have plenty of food in the freezer to get us through at least a month without buying much of anything at all. Farms who believe in the importance of serving their communities, operate year round, and are doing what they can to provide food for their people in the midst of this time of uncertainty.

I’m singing praises to God through virtual worship services and evening prayers and hymn sings in a way that I haven’t done in a really long time. I’m able to “attend” worship services at churches that are so near and dear to me - yet are hundreds of miles away - and it’s making my heart break right open into this mess of joy and sadness all at the same time. Isn’t that what faith is all about after all? Sadness for the world as it is, while at the same time this immense feeling of joy that God loves us and we belong to God. The many church communities that have sustained me throughout my almost-40-years of life are now sustaining me from afar.

I’m ever so thankful for a craft room full of yarn and sewing supplies. For a basement full of scrap wood and building tools. For an extended family who - although they are super far away - can walk me through just about any craft or building project I could ever want to attempt.

I continue to be amazed at how we ended up in this place we now call home and just how much it fills us up. We’re surrounded by woods and trails and it just feels like a safe haven in the middle of a storm. We can climb trees, explore nature, lay in the hammock, swing in the swing, plant a garden, or just bring a blanket and read a book outside. The vast space that belongs to us is not lost on me in this time of “staying at home.”

I’m grateful for the hard work I’ve done over the last two years in really understanding what a good homeschool life looks like for us. We have a library full of books right in our own home. We have puzzles and games and toys to spark creativity and imagination. We have an entire room of craft and art supplies. We have thousands of ideas that we’ve been too busy to work on, and now we actually have time to dig in to some of those things. I know that my kids are learning even when we aren’t doing “lessons” and I’m not afraid of days full of free play.

These are just a few of the things I’m giving thanks for today. The list goes on and on, and as I write this, my privilege is not lost on me. But just as yesterday was for feeling sad, today is for giving thanks. For filling up my cup with praise and thanksgiving so that I can look forward to how I can use these gifts that I’m given - this privilege that I’m living - to help those people around me that aren’t in the same place.

Tell me …. what are you giving thanks for today?

Photo by Rajiv Bajaj on Unsplash.

Permission to Wonder

This isn’t normal this time we’re living in. Read that again … This isn’t normal.

I’m giving so much thanks that we homeschool in a time such as this. Our routine doesn’t have to shift too much. Our extracurriculars have been cancelled, our playdates postponed, our libraries closed, our vacations on hold. But our day-to-day life doesn’t have to change much. We’re used to being home all day. We’re used to preparing three meals at home every day. Going on hikes. Playing outside. My girls are amazing at playing independently - and together. They are just used to it. Creativity abounds. I mean, if I’m really honest with myself, I’m a tiny bit grateful that I have an excuse to just stay home and say no to all the requests that come my way. I’ve been longing for an extended time of rest and Sabbath.

But let’s be real …. when that rest and Sabbath is forced on you, it doesn’t have the same effect. I find myself feeling anxious every morning as I wake. I feel my creativity lacking. My motivation has tanked. We are doing the bare minimum when it comes to lessons each day. That desire I originally had to just plow through the rest of our year has now dissipated, as I now wonder if our summer plans will be cancelled as well.

I wonder if the oldest will get to perform in the dance competitions she’s been preparing for since Fall.

I wonder if the youngest will ever go back to gymnastics.

I wonder how I will continue to be the Pollyanna in the family.

I wonder if we’ll be told we can’t even go to our favorite parks to hike.

I wonder if the beaches will be closed.

I wonder if my favorite local businesses will survive this mess.

I wonder what life will look like in 2 weeks. In 4 weeks. In 2 months.

I wonder what my CSA pickups will look like come June. Will we be able to pick our own veggies from boxes touched by others, or will we still be living in a time where fear of germs prevails?

I wonder if our government will put us on a “total lockdown” even though the U.S. is founded upon principles of liberty and freedom. It’s hard to not trust your government to look out for your best interests, you know?

I wonder if someone I know and love will fall ill because of this virus. Will they die? If they do, will we be able to celebrate their life?

I wonder how we’ll celebrate Holy Week, if we can’t celebrate The Last Supper with our church family.

I wonder how we’ll celebrate the risen Christ. BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING, COVID-19. NOT EVEN YOU CAN KEEP JESUS IN THE TOMB!

And as I wonder all of these things, I begin to feel guilty for the trivialness of my worries. And then I feel gratitude that these are the things I’m worried about. I’m not worried about whether or not we’ll keep our house. I’m not worried about whether or not we’ll have enough food to eat. I’m not worried about whether we’ll get bored. I’m not worried about how we’ll pay our bills, or if we’ll lose the one source of income we have.

If your worries are like mine, I want you to hear me say that your worries matter. Today I’m granting you permission to feel sad. To feel mournful over the things that don’t feel normal. To give yourself some space to just process what’s happening. Allow yourself to just BE. Take some time to play with your kids. Make a list of all the things you’ve been wanting to do, and just pick one to throw yourself into. Find a good audiobook to listen to. Stories make us all feel better.

Regardless of what you see on social media, it’s OKAY to not force yourself - or your kids - into a new routine at home right away. It’s okay to give them a week or two of unstructured play. It’s okay for them - and you - to feel bored. It’s okay to not rush into this new virtual-schooling/working life that is being thrust upon you.

It’s okay for you to wonder. It’s okay for you to feel sad. It’s okay for you to feel a twinge of happiness that you have an excuse to say no to all the demands that were wearing you out just two weeks ago. It’s okay for you to simultaneously love and hate all the virtual meeting opportunities that are coming your way.

This time we are living in. It is NOT normal. Let’s not pretend like it is.

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash.