Now more than 6 weeks into our COVID-19 pandemic state of social isolation, we have slowly adapted to this new way of life--working from home, schooling from home, shopping from home, "seeing" people online on platforms like Zoom and FaceTime and Google Duo, worshipping at home, and--from our homes--trying to maintain productivity, academic progress, physical health and fitness, and spiritual and mental/emotional health.
It's a challenge. It's a blessing. Some days are good, some days are hard. All of this--all the change, all the blessings, all the hard, all the yuck--has its upsides and its downsides.
With 5 of us under one roof, at any given time in our home, at least one of us is likely having a harder day, including me. The no-fun days are those when I am feel stuck, discouraged, sad, lethargic and down.
Earlier in the pandemic, I was zealously clinging to the silver linings, embracing the togetherness, the learning at home, the slower pace. I was idealizing that perhaps this should be our new normal even after the pandemic--buy a big house in the country with some land, get some horses, home school, and never really go anywhere. I even got onto Zillow to see where we could move.
Fast forward a few more weeks, and I am more willing to let myself feel the grief. Some days it is heavy. This is the week we would have been in Colorado to celebrate Jared's graduation from University of Colorado at Boulder. This would have been Anna's finals week at JMU before moving home for the summer for her internship (which--in an educational setting--is unlikely to exist this summer). As it is, I have ordered a cake and a meal for Jared's girlfriend to pick up and for the two of them to eat together on the day he would have been walking across the stage to receive his diploma. And, as I sit here typing this blog post, Anna is sitting by my side taking one of her finals online.
Each of us is grieving different things in different ways.
Each of us is wondering how long this will last and what the future will look like.
Each week we worship as a family at home as the rest of our church family worships simultaneously at home. Each week I am encouraged by the Word of God, and I can embrace the truths of who He is--that He is near, that He is sovereign, that He is omniscient, that He sees and hears and knows and that nothing takes Him by surprise. And yet, each week my heart is grieved and I find myself weepy that we are not together as a church family.
And so, I speak truth to my heart--and I have hope--and still I let myself feel the grief. I can rest in the knowledge that the future is in His hands--and I pray for our leaders to make wise decisions as we move forward--and I continue to do what each day demands.
