Well this is different. Another blog, only two weeks later.
It’s obviously not just the timing of my blog that’s different.
Everything is different.
For everyone.
That’s what the “pan” in pandemic means.
As we continue to navigate these uncertain, constantly changing, unprecedented times—which will leave none of us unchanged—our prayers and hopes are vested in an unchanging God, whose assurances, presence, protection, and promises are unaffected by the coronavirus that is affecting everything else.
And our hearts are full of “asks” that, as the majority of humans are seeking with renewed urgency the answers to life’s most ponderous questions, like—“Is this all there is?” or “Why are we here?” or “Does my life have any meaning or purpose?”—they will discover that the answer to their queries is found in Jesus. Alone.
We are so heartened to see the Church rise up in relief efforts, both locally and abroad, and in acts of kindness being expressed in neighborhoods and towns throughout our country. “The fields are ripe with harvest.” May we go to the fields (at a safe distance) and help to gather the harvest.
It becomes more real everyday that the world will not return to “normal” after this. “Normal” needed tweaking, for sure, and we pray that this time of “values clarification” will change how we do life going forward.
After returning from our 3.5-week tour that ended with our weekend in Ft. Worth with the Rwandan church, and our speaking schedule was wiped clean virtually overnight, we seized the unexpected window of time and drove to Northern Virginia to spend a few days with the Johnsons and Lisa (obviously prior to getting really locked down). Lisa and I were supposed to be in Ireland for the week, and we were supposed to have met up at Dulles Airport to fly together to Dublin, so when Ireland rolled up its welcome mat, we compromised on spending a few days together in Virginia. The timing was perfect for the cherry blossoms, and we took full advantage of that “silver lining” by driving into D.C. in the early morning dark to watch the sunrise behind the Jefferson Memorial slowly illuminating this annual “rite of spring” passage.
And we were not disappointed. We were treated to a most extraordinary display of delicate beauty parading in various shades of pink and white as we walked around the Tidal Basin, drinking in the loveliness. What a gift that the timing of our canceled trip coincided with the peak of the cherry blossoms!
Though the cherry blossom experience was certainly a highlight, the best part of the trip was having several days with the kids and grands. Homeschooling took up part of each day, which included taking long walks for “PE” and being greeted by happy little daffodil faces heralding the awakening of spring. It occurred to me then that even as life as we know it has been drastically altered these days, nature continues uninterrupted, reminding us that God is still faithfully tending His creation. Robins and cardinals flitting about the trees, trees beginning to leaf out, flowers popping through the earth, lawns greening up; everywhere we looked there were signs of new life. All of this has served to amplify hope in the midst of so much despair.
These last two weeks of quarantine following that quick road trip to Derek and Julie’s have been silver-lined. We have not spent two weeks in our home uninterrupted, even by local travel, since 2003 when we launched Home Improvement Ministries. Doing the math, that means 17 years of accumulated piles and neglected “not urgent enough” projects that welcomed our attention, now made possible by “quarantine.”
And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’ve loved being home and “getting things done.” At the outset of these two weeks, Paul and I quickly discovered that we each had very different ideas of how the time would best be used. (Shocker, I know.) Closets, drawers, offices, attic, garage, bookshelves, under beds, kitchen cupboards, freezer…No space in our home was safe from my vigilante desire to purge, clean, deep six.
Paul? Not so much.
So we’ve landed at a place of resolve. Some closets. Some drawers. Some part of the attic. Some part of the garage. A few of the bookshelves. Freezer: only what we’ve eaten. What under-beds?
The great purge of Paul’s closet. Thrilling, for me.
The finished product. And it continues to look this way since none of these clothes are needed when you’re “sheltering at home."
The garage was another project, and boy did we make progress there!
Paul has ventured to the market (during the once offensive but now embraced “senior citizen” hours) and to his office (no one else is in the office building), but I’ve sequestered myself at home. After a week of spending time in the aforementioned spaces, I tackled photos.
Oh. My. Goodness.
If I didn’t believe it before, I do now. Too much of a good thing becomes a bad thing.
44 years of photos. Triple or quadruple prints for just PENNIES at Costco for about 25 of those years. I might be able to circle the globe if I laid the photos we’ve had printed end to end.
The photo project started innocently enough. Our oldest daughter will turn 40 on May 27 and my goal is/was to complete the scrapbooking albums of “her life” by then. I gave her the first volume when she graduated from college in 2004 (yes, 16 years ago) and her second when she turned 25 (yes, 15 years ago). And "that’s all she wrote.”
So for the past seven days, I’ve been knee deep in photos. Every surface space in our Great Room has held piles of sorted photos. And scrapbooking “stuff.”
And I’ve been reminded of a few things.
I love photos. Always have. Always will.
I have a love/hate relationship with Costco over making it so easy to have too many of said photos. “Too much of a good thing becomes a bad thing."
We have been beyond blessed with an abundance of wonderful friends, family, experiences, and ministry opportunities. We’ve been to an incredible number of beautiful, breathtaking places. Our life together has been rich, full, and mostly joy-filled.
Every sunrise and sunset photo I’ve taken affirms that no two are the same and all are worth memorializing.
I’ve spent a lot of time remembering. Some of the photos elicit emotions of pain and sorrow, those which hold the faces of loved ones now deceased, or of friends with whom we no longer have contact. But most of them surface happy memories of moments which “seem like yesterday.” It’s strange how that works.
I’ll keep plugging away on the project. As the days pass, it’s easier to throw away photos that are … just excessive. By the time I get to Julie’s albums, I may need only one. (Not really. I’ve already finished two of hers. Years ago. Of course.)
The state of our Great Room as I sorted through piles of photos and made progress on a few Creative Memories albums.
Last Saturday morning, March 28, changed it up big time for us. The text message came in saying that my 90-year-old Mama, “Queen Esther,” had fallen and was being taken to the hospital. We now know that she (somehow) miraculously survived a pulmonary embolism. According to x-rays, a large clot banged into her heart, split in two, and settled in her lungs. Though even by that afternoon she was somewhat back to her “normal” sharp, funny, extroverted self, she spent five days in the hospital getting heparin and stabilizing. After five days, she was released to hospice care at her condo.
So the past week has been tenuous, moment by moment. And the coronavirus has invaded our personal lives in a most unwelcome way.
My sweet Mama could have no visitors in the hospital. FaceTime considerably lessened the pain of that restriction, but obviously a screen is no real substitute for human contact.
Released to hospice care in her condo this past Wednesday night, she can now have her loving family around her, at a safe distance, with face masks and gloves in place (of course). Our daughter Lisa, a professor at Cal Baptist University in Riverside, CA, chose to move in with her for the foreseeable future since her teaching responsibilities are online. But since caring for Mama is more than one person can manage, I am flying to San Diego as I write. And I, too, will spend the foreseeable future teaming up with Lisa, several local siblings, and hospice to help make these days as good as they can be.
My Mama and me, enjoying some early morning chatting.
Mama read the scripture for our devotional time.
A Zoom conference call brought all seven siblings together while “Queen Esther” held court.
Another silver lining: prior to COVID-19 “stopping the world,” we had a packed travel schedule. Rhode Island. California. Ireland. Vietnam. Lebanon. And our own Engagement Matters Weekend, right here in Massachusetts. I couldn’t have dropped everything to move in with my mom. It is a gift from heaven, that among all the losses, there are valuable gains.
Although it seems like the media ensures its success by peddling inflated bad news, we’re hearing/experiencing good news, too. Many of us have unprecedented time, which decades ago was identified as our most valuable commodity. In the mix of so much busyness, so many opportunities, so many distractions, we’ve lost touch with one another and “chosen" isolation has become the by-product. We’ve settled for sound bite communication, fly-by face to face intersections, and technologically-driven messages. Suddenly, the time “we never have enough of” is in abundance, or, at least, greatly increased from the norm. We’ve gained commute time. Shopping time. Going to sporting events time. Kids’ sports time. Laundry time.
How are we going to use it?
That will be different for each family, but the challenge to each is to not waste it by wishing it away.
I am now in San Diego, settled in to my mom’s condo with Lisa. Mom is bedridden which, we’re quickly discovering, is very different from having limited mobility. With the support of several siblings, a part-time caregiver, and hospice nurses, we’re working together to maximize the time we have left with our beloved Mother/Grandmother. She’s a delightful “patient”—very grateful and very concerned about not being a burden—as she “walks" through these days with courage and faith.
She longs for Heaven. This morning she was talking to God, reminding Him that she’s ready to come home. She questioned aloud why she was still here, to which I replied, “Apparently your mansion isn’t ready quite yet.”
The signs seem to indicate that her “mansion” is nearing completion and she and we are all very much at peace with that.
That’s not just a silver lining.
That’s everything.
