Time Out

I was finishing up a book by Kathryn Whitaker: Live Big, Love Bigger.

Yesterday, as I wrapped up chapter nine, I was riveted.

Kathryn was teetering on the edge of postpartum depression after the birth of her youngest child. In an effort to bring calm to her life – and to her family’s life, she and her husband decided to institute a moratorium on all extracurricular activities for six months – everything.

She said the, “drastic detox was brutal.”

She also said that friends and neighbors offered to take kids to sports practices and help out with babysitting, but she and her husband continued to fast from the craziness of life. Then her ten-year-old said, “I’m kinda glad I’m not playing baseball. I was feeling stressed out.”

And she knew they had made the right decision.  

I thought about how, really, we are living this decision unintentionally. Yes, there are essential workers who are in the workforce and out, but, for the vast majority of us, our children are not involved in athletics or clubs or any outside activities. We are nestled in our homes.

There certainly are challenges – there are families where this is a safety issue, where parents are unable to feed their children, where adults are out of jobs, where domestic abuse lurks under the quietness of homes. This is not a rosy experience for all of us.

But for me, this has served as a time of contemplation.

Normally, we are a busy family. We homeschool. My husband and I work. Our children are involved in youth activities, clubs, figure skating, and church. Our family volunteers with various organizations and church committees. We stopped everything cold turkey. Just like Kathryn and her family.

At first, it was claustrophobic. I was used to going out – all the time. Though we didn’t go out to eat very often, the thought that the opportunity wasn’t there was unsettling.

We homeschool, but our lives look much different today than it did four weeks ago. My husband is working from home; he is no longer taking our daughter to figure skate at 5:20 a.m. My girls, used to skating three to four hours a day, have been home … all day … missing friends, missing coaches, missing activity. My meetings have been moved to Zoom.

At first, it was, as Kathryn said: brutal.

But, as the time has passed, our life has fallen into a rhythm. And it is no longer a rhythm of: hurry up and finish this assignment because we have piano in 20 minutes and then we have to do history before we leave for the rink. – And grab your math books because we need to finish that on the way.

Now, our days look different. There is a breath of fresh air on most days. My husband is home more – and we are connecting more as a family. Our girls are playing piano and being creative with our keyboards. They are sewing and playing volleyball and drawing. I used to teach at a local Catholic high school, and they are offering virtual adoration at noon. We often tune in. They are participating in Mass … from our couches. 

As we get closer to the end of isolation, my hope is that, instead of fear, my children remember that for a season, we grew together, we helped others, and we pulled together. We snuggled more. We did school together. We learned new things. Yes, sometimes we left to take friends to emergency doctor appointments or to go to work (I work in the news business, so I have been out) or to grocery shop, but we didn’t make frivolous trips. We learned to make facemasks. We stayed at home. And we helped keep others safe so that we could help the many medical professionals who are working tireless to help those who are suffering.  I hope they remember that we physically distanced in order to stand together -- united as one nation -- as one world.

Oh, and life also continued to happen as usual for many – I was able to catch some of these local farmers prepping their fields and planting – preparing for the future, and bringing us hope.These brown open fields will soon be teeming with the little, green sprouts of life.

As the seeds deep beneath the darkness begin to emerge as shoots of green, I hope you, also, will continue to open your soul to life in the light once again.

Sass Farms

Sass Farms

Sass Farms

Sass Farms

Sass Farms

Sass Farms

Sass Farms

Sass Farms

From the inside looking out .... at Sass Farms

To follow this farming experience: visit The Millennial Farmwife on Facebook!

Holy Week -- Joy in the Midst of a Global Pandemic

“Be strong and steadfast; have no fear or dread of them, for it is the Lord, your God, who marches with you; he will never fail you or forsake you.” ~Deuteronomy 31:6

This is a challenging time. I’m torn every day about how I feel about how life has changed over this global pandemic.

I am scared. I have friends who work in the medical field, and they are under insurmountable stress. In Deuteronomy 31, Joshua is chosen to take Moses’ place because he is willing to risk his life to do what is right.

There are doctors and nurses who are risking their own lives as they save others. I am so thankful for them – and those words sound so insignificant in light of the great battle they are fighting for us.

And we are scared -- collectively.

With so much uncertainty, it is hard to have hope, but this scripture gives me hope. God marches with us – in this battle, God is marching with us – marching with those on the frontlines, and marching with those who are staying home, and marching with those who are working to heal.

God will never fail or forsake you.

How much joy is there in that! Kathryn Whitaker writes in her book _Live Big, Love Bigger_, that Stephen Colbert has a note affixed to his computer with the phrase: Joy is the most infallible sign of the existence of God.

Can we find joy in the midst of a global pandemic?

We can.

Last Sunday was Palm Sunday. We watched a live-stream Mass on our television. It was strange. But it was also familiar. The familiar Gospel reading, the alignment of our cross to Christ’s, the recognition of the greatest act of love… it was so many emotions wrapped into one.

There is so much uncertainty right now. There is sorrow for the loss of life. There are friends dealing with real crises. There are healthcare workers who are mentally drained and tirelessly working to save lives. There is mourning for normalcy. But there are also moments of deep joy.

In the midst of COVID-19, there still is joy. It is in birthdays celebrated, moments shared with family, facebook posts that keep us connected even while distant, texts that make us smile, and phone calls that encourage us. There are chalked sidewalks and bike rides and nature walks. And there is hope in the empty tomb.

While my family and I walk this Holy Week, we will experience joy, fear, agony, grief, and hope – all in one week. And, in this, Christ gives us permission to feel all of those emotions at the same time. For even when there are darkest hours … there also are moments of light.

In the midst of the juxtaposed emotions, my girls and I snuck over the chalk my parents' driveway. We miss them so much, but we tried to brighten their day a bit before the rain. Joy ... in the midst of a pandemic.