My 3rd grader started school in person last week. It feels strange to be back in the school drop off line, strange to see her and everyone else in their little masks, and even more strange to have the oldest two still at home with me waiting to start virtual school. They aren’t convinced this is the best plan for their year. And honestly, I’m not sure that it is. There are doubts and concerns around all of these big decisions. Aren’t most of us just operating on a wing and a prayer right now, scrambling to learn new systems {so many new technologies} and hoping we’re doing the right thing?
There is a sadness in the air this August that I can’t quite put my finger on. It reminds me of the late summer humidity. You can’t see it or touch it, but you can feel it and are ever aware of its presence in the air. I think it’s something of a collective sadness caused by the culmination of the many small losses this year has dealt each of us. Our most recent little loss is that our neighbors of nearly nine years are selling their house and moving soon. Our youngest one plays with their daughter almost every day, so when we told her the news over the weekend she sat in my lap and just quietly wept for awhile. What a gift to have a neighbor who is an equally adventurous playmate and friend. She will miss her so!
Another day, another change. I feel sure most all of us could weep for awhile over the changes and disappointments this year has brought about. We may be out of words to say and pray, but our private tears and fears are many. I find it hard not to be nostalgic for the “good ‘ole days of 2019,” and yet I know that nostalgia sometimes lies and there is good and beauty in the present as well.
I’m anxious {which is certainly not a new thing}, but I think all of the decision-making and the mask-wearing has started to take a toll on my body and my brain. I have too much nervous energy early in the day, and then I crash and am hardly functional in the evenings. A few nights ago, I told my middle one to “Go shake a tower.” What I meant to say was, of course, “Go take a shower.” But even my speech is confused these days.
I wondered back at Easter and I find myself still wondering some four months later:
How long, O Lord? How long?
We aren’t the first generation to face a pandemic, uncertainty, political unrest, or a culturally divided society. In fact, if we go back far enough in history, our ancestors were fortunate to simply survive into adulthood. In the grand scheme of things, maybe a virus isn’t even a hardship for most of us in this country. But I don’t think minimizing the little losses helps us move through them or grow from them. And I don’t believe that the God who sees {Genesis 16:13} glosses over them either.
I started a devotional a few weeks ago called New Morning Mercies by Paul David Tripp. I highlighted most all of his entry on August 12th because, even though the book was published in 2014, it felt like every word was written specifically for such a time as this. He closes the devotion with these thoughts:
“Many things in your life are out of your control. You face many things that make you feel unprepared, small, or weak. {Hello, homeschooling!!} But you must not give way to thinking that your life is out of control. You need to remind yourself… that over all the trouble that confounds us and dismays us is a God of glorious wisdom, power, and grace who rules every moment of every situation. No, you will not always see his hand… There will be points when life won’t make sense to you. At times, you will wish that life could be different. There will be moments when you will feel unprepared for what is on your plate. In these moments, look up and remember that above it all there is a throne, and on it sits a God of unimaginable majesty, ruling all for his glory and for your good.”
What a word for this week and this year.
So much feels out of our control right now. But nothing is outside of God’s sovereignty. I don’t have to look much further than my own backyard to see an illustration of this. My tiny tomatoes have taken a turn for the worse, but this is my raised bed pumpkin patch.
I don’t know what’s happening with all the crazy little vines. I’m not sure I even planted the seeds in time to yield pumpkins in the fall. And I sure don’t know what I’m doing over here pretending I’m some sort of suburban farmer. But I kind of like the reminder every time I walk by this scene that I can only do so much, and then I have to entrust the rest to nature.
I’m not ultimately in control of my garden. Nor am I in control of this school year, my family, my city, or the outcomes of 2020. And that’s OK because there is One who is. And He is good.
The Lord has established His throne in the heavens,
And His sovereignty rules over all.
Psalm 103:19
Thanks be to God. We can trade our hold on the reins for a hold onto that hope.
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