Hanging by a thread

This feels like one of the hardest weeks we’ve had since the pandemic began and I’m not even quite sure why. Maybe it’s because some of our dearest friends packed up their belongings and began a cross-country move to Colorado yesterday. Of course we have technology and can plan to visit them when travel is normal again. But we will miss them here. We’re learning in real time and as a whole family what it feels like to grieve the loss of a friend’s presence and proximity. And right now, every new loss has a way of reminding us of old losses, too.

Change is hard.

We have made some big decisions these past few weeks that feel difficult but right. Our oldest two are going to do school from home this year. I know better than to try to teach them myself, so we plan to use online instruction and follow more of a virtual learning model. Our youngest will go to school in person for as long as that lasts. Like everyone else with school-age children, we wonder if we’re making the right decisions. My girls wonder how this will affect their friendships. I wonder if I’ll be up to the task. (Based on our spring semester, I have serious doubts!). Our routines will look totally different, and no one is sure what to expect this fall.

Uncertainty is hard.

Ever since our youngest child learned to talk she has had a knack for picking up on adult expressions and using them when we least expect it. One Sunday when she was four years old we had a particularly hectic morning trying to getting everyone fed, dressed, and in the car to head to church. She hopped in her car seat with her dress on backwards, sighed, and announced: “My nerves are shot.”

More recently she overheard us talking to my brother and sister-in-law about a popular Canadian sitcom on Netflix called Schitt’s Creek. We didn’t think anything of that conversation until the next morning when she was having some trouble tying one of her shoes and my husband overheard her say to herself, “Schitt’s Creek.”

She knows a good line when she hears one. And I feel like both of those expressions sum up my feelings about 2020 at this point. My nerves are shot. And “Schitt’s Creek.” One can take that however one wishes, but it feels a bit cathartic to say it. I’m out of patience and running really low on maturity these days.

Adulting (and parenting!) in a pandemic is hard.

I’m finding that in the midst of all the frustrations and the big feelings that have accompanied this year so far, small delights have taken on more meaning. Lately, my coffee tastes better than it ever has before. Nothing is different about the beans or the way we brew it this summer, but I savor the comfort of every sip. Hot showers feel better than they ever have before. Something about the water resets and refreshes my mind and even my mood. And watching the flowers and vegetables grow and ripen in our tiny raised bed garden has become one of the highlights of my day.

Help us taste and see that you’re still good, Lord.

My nerves may be shot, but my senses are heightened. And it makes me wonder what God is up to with all of us during this time. I certainly don’t know what’s going on or exactly where we’re headed, but I do believe He’s in it with us.

My favorite comfort besides things like coffee, showers, and fresh peaches right now is the Psalms. I love the raw honesty and the way they give me words to pray when I’m too tired or too distracted by my own thoughts to form sentences. This week I especially like Psalm 94:18-19:

“I cried out, ‘I’m slipping!’
and your unfailing love, O Lord, supported me.
When doubts filled my mind,
your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer.”

“I’m slipping” indeed. My mind is slipping, my energy is slipping, my spirits are slipping. Maybe we’re all slipping?

Keep holding us up, Lord.

We’ve lost a lot in 2020. Routines, jobs, small businesses, church services, childcare, camps, sports seasons, trips, reunions, big celebrations, family members, friends… and the list goes on and on.

But we haven’t lost the presence of the Lord.

Even when the decisions feel hard and heavy. Even when we’re down and doubtful. Even when the news is divisive and depressing. Even when we’re hanging onto everything—our health and our hope—by what feels like only a thread.

Give us your comforts, Lord. Hope and cheer. Hope and cheer.