And I hope

Well, this is quite a time. I’ve been staying Safe at Home for the past few weeks to do my part in slowing the spread of the coronavirus like many people have. My outings consist of neighborhood walks with the family, grocery trips as needed, and a couple times a week I drive in for work to do my part working at an essential business. My days consist of walking my kids through their daily school work, preparing meals, and assisting my husband with whatever new project he has picked up around the house.

I have not taken up the task of learning a new thing, or throwing myself into a creative endeavor. I find that at the end of each day I am completely exhausted both from the relentless attention to school and food, and the never-ending cascade of news about the virus. The goal posts keep moving , and more things keep dropping off the calendar.

As death rates keep rising it can seem petty to worry about what other things have been lost, but we must name them. It is still real loss, and it is still real grief to look at all that has been taken off the calendar- to think about what was supposed to be, what was hoped for, planned for.

Yesterday I received more information about something that feels like real loss for me as a result of all that’s going on. I got the email while I was at the stove cooking up some berries. I have taken to the practice of exploring alternative options for food just before it goes bad since wasting food right now seems terrible, and perhaps like more loss, and a mismanagement of resources. So I was cooking the berries that were just about to turn, creating a sweet concoction to go with some shortcake. It was not lost on me in that moment that there are many ways the world feels like things are spoiling and going bad right now, and the space we find ourselves in is one of innovation. We hold onto a hope that there is still purpose in this space that feels like it might be too far gone.

I grieve things that will no longer happen, the quality education my children were receiving in the classroom, space to think for myself and about my own goals, work events and trainings that were to be life-giving, and probably a thousand other small things throughout each day that are all being experienced and expressed in isolation.

And I hope. I hope that as many things in our society seem to be beyond repair that we might be looking toward new ways of moving and being in the world and with one another- yes, right now, but also on the other side of it all. I hope that we can all acknowledge the many things we have lost, both big and small, as well as the many things we have gained.

I picked up a book today from my shelf and the first passage I read was this:

God is forming us into a new people.

And the place of that formation is in the small moments of today.

-Tish Harrison Warren, Liturgy of the Ordinary