I sit on the front porch, wrapped up in my favorite quilt.  It’s the red and white one I made myself, with the big stitch quilting my cousin, Paula, taught me about.  My coffee cools quickly, but I drink it anyway because I’m not a real coffee drinker, and it still tastes good.

 

The birds sing just like every other morning.  Why are the mockingbirds always the loudest? I wish I knew more about what I was hearing, that I could separate and identify the birds. 

My youngest stumbles out the open front door, wild-haired, sleepy eyed, and smiling.  He always wakes up in a better mood than I do, and it melts my heart how he is so genuinely happy to see me every morning.   “Good morning, Mama. What are you doin’ out here?” 

“I like listening to the birds and the rain,” I tell him.

“Why?” He probes, the eternal question of four-year-olds everywhere.

“Because the birds’ singing is God’s song.”

I never realized it until I said it to him, but it’s true.

Rain comes and goes.  The air is wet and sticky, and the sky has been gray for days. 

Life feels surreal.  It’s only day three of no school, but quarantine has been going on a little longer if you count cancelled church services, cancelled events, and general requests from officials to keep to ourselves.

Grocery stores struggle to keep up with the demands created by everyone holing up for an indefinite period of time.  Even Amazon has made changes to its delivery services for a few weeks.  

A cloud hangs over us all, a feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop.  We hold our collective breath, watching maps for the wave of viruses to hit our communities and hospitals so we can see what the fallout really looks like.  

Will it look like Italy here?  Will the preventative efforts we’re taking allow us to look back and arrogantly proclaim a gross overreaction in response to a minor threat?

We scroll Facebook and Twitter in a twisted state of mindless automaticity and wary concern.

How long will our kids be out of school? How long will restaurants close their dining rooms? How long will people be out of work?  How badly will the economy suffer?

How many people will get sick?  Die?

It feels like being in Legion, or The Book of Eli, or Bird Box, just without the zombies and violence.  And no one to yell, “Cut!”

And yet, in the midst of the uncertainty and weirdness, there is still so much normalcy.

God’s song continues, regardless of what the news says or what the hospitals are dealing with or what’s available in the grocery stores.  The sun still rises; the birds still sing; the rain still falls.

So many people continue going to work everyday, and it’s not just the medical professionals and healthcare workers. Postal workers, delivery drivers, truck drivers, sanitation workers, government officials, retail workers, utility services… so many of the often unappreciated people who make our lives easier, cleaner, and more convenient every day are the only ones keeping our entire economy – our “normal” lives – moving right now. 

Can you imagine how we’d all fare if our internet service providers suddenly called it a day and there was no Netflix to see us through this?  No internet to keep us distracted, informed, or entertained? I shudder at the thought.

Memes, jokes, and flippant remarks abound.  Some people get really irritated or even angered by these, but not me.  

Humor is how we cope.  We minimize and laugh at things that concern us to make them seem less threatening, less serious.  We convince ourselves there’s no cause for concern. It’s more comfortable that way.  

And sometimes getting mad about the jokes comes from fear, too.  We’re afraid if we joke too much that no one will take it seriously, and people will be hurt because of it.

I’m a media skeptic, so I don’t ask “How high?” when the news tell me to “Jump.”  I believe we’re fed a curated version of truth in most circumstances, and this situation is likely no exception.

But that doesn’t mean there’s no truth in what we hear.

Here’s what I know. Having a living faith is NOT the same thing as acting in defiance of good sense.  And acting with good sense is NOT the same thing as living in fear.

I am not afraid, but I also am not arrogant.  I am calm, but I am not complacent. I am grateful, but I am not oblivious.  This is far from the worst thing humanity has ever faced, and also far from ‘not a concern.”

This too shall pass, and I hope we can be proud of how we acted when it does.

Like a good 90’s child teetering on the knife edge between Gen X and Millenial, I leave you with the words of Alanis Morissette.  May we all be aware of the conflicting emotions swirling within each of us and willing to hold space for those feelings, both in ourselves and in others.  And may that practice teach us to hold that sacred space both in this season and the seasons to come.

I’m free, but I’m focused 
I’m green, but I’m wise
I’m hard, but I’m friendly, baby
I’m sad, but I’m laughing
I’m brave, but I’m chicken s***
I’m sick, but I’m pretty, baby.

And what it all boils down to
Is that no one’s really got it figured out just yet
Well, I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is playin’ a piano
And what it all comes down to my friends, yeah
Is that everything is just fine, fine, fine’
Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is hailin’ a taxi cab.
Hand in My Pocket, Alanis Morissette