Changing My View

A streak of light slashes across the ceiling. A small spider travels around the light. This is my view as I lay on the floor nursing my tired back. I landed here on the living room rug weary; I’ve spent the whole afternoon working with people via the phone and computer. It is a privilege to pour into others and it is a necessity to take and receive these few moments of rest.

In my reading this morning I came across a portion of the essay “Sacraments” written by Andre Dubus. Andre lost both of his legs in a tragic accident and his daily tasks were accomplished from a wheelchair.

“Each moment is a sacrament, this holding plastic bags, of knives, of bread, of cutting board, this pushing of the chair, this spreading of the mustard on bread, this trimming of liverwurst, of ham. All sacraments, as putting the lunches into a zippered book bag is, and going down my six ramps to my car is. I drive on the highway, to the girls’ town, to their school, and this is not simply a transition; it is my love moving by car from a place where my girls are not to a place where they are; even if I do not feel or acknowledge it, this is a sacrament. If I remember it, then I feel it too.”

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to shelter at home. Here’s the number one thing I recognize: I have the luxury of always sheltering at home. I have a home. This is not true for everyone.

Here is how sheltering at home for me during the pandemic differs than any other time. I do all my work at home now, not just a portion of it. I don’t eat in restaurants or go shopping unless it is for necessities. I am unable to be with my church community in real time with actual bodies but I do have access to the Internet and can join church activities a number of times each week. I deeply miss being in the presence of people but I am so grateful for the luxury of having a number of ways to make contact.

The topic is redundant; I can’t seem to write about anything else right now. It is the main topic of conversation these days. It has taken over everyone’s lives and lots of people’s businesses. We are living dramatically different lives than before the pandemic. It has been tempting to wonder about what life will be like when we come out of this but I can only guess. I find I am doing better when my thoughts are pulled in closer to home and nearer my heart.

I was challenged by Louie Giglio’s question: “What are these days going to make of me?” How am I being formed by this event? I have a choice, you know. I don’t control most outcomes in this scenario but I do control whether or not I allow myself to be formed into the likeness of Jesus as I release life before pandemic.

That being said, here are some things I have discovered. In spite of the abnormality of the days in which we are living, I am learning to live more in the moment. In anxiety, I go from thing to thing, lost and without purpose. But when I choose peace the moments are enlarged with the invitation to let go trying to control and accept what is. These moments are filled with appreciation for little gifts around me. These are real time moments savored from day to day until we are free to roam the earth and congregate once again.

• Recognizing and enjoying the sound of lawn mowers. It’s a common thing but I am enjoying the sound of people doing yard work. It seems so normal. I am enjoying working in the yard more these days. Usually this task falls to Jim; I tend to find other things to do. It’s not like we aren’t busy but I find myself needing to connect with the natural world of my own yard more so right now. Being outside, weeding and planting, is a good break from sitting at my desk. There is great satisfaction at the end of the day seeing things taking shape and plants looking healthy. The joy of gardening.
• I smile at the sounds of children next door. The family east of us consists of a single mom, an adult daughter, a teenage daughter, an older uncle and an older aunt. The single mom just adopted a 3 year old boy and a 10 month old boy – brothers. Her niece was unable to care for them. All day long I hear children being taught, played with and calmed. All these grown-ups loving on two little boys, who nearly fell through the cracks of the system, and meeting their needs. I delight in hearing the joy of nurturing little lives next door.
• Noticing beauty. Making simple meals from whatever we have available. Scattering bits of joy via mail or home made baked goods hand delivered. Listening. This has become more important sans body language. Listening. People need to be heard. People need other people to care.
• The 3,000 piece puzzle my husband spread all over the dining table wasn’t a bad idea after all. At first I groaned. For days I gave up in frustration attempting to find pieces that went together. We are in a groove now and it is the place we go when we need a little down time.
• 
  I see eyes. Masked up for shopping, when we look at one another, all we see are eyes. I want to remember to look other people in the eyes. I want them to know I see them.

In the strangeness of our days, in the hardship of our limits, we can find the sacraments Andre Dubus wrote about. When we pray and breathe in the peace of God we find something worthwhile in the moments while confined. When peace washes over us and we choose our thoughts well, we can then see with great clarity the good in our limitations. We begin to recognize the sacraments of love when we shop, deliver, listen, let go and rest while we wait. Then we can make space to be present to God, ourselves, our people and to the gifts tucked into the moments. Truly there are losses but we have an opportunity to look for what we gain; to see the sacraments of love.