That was my heart cry when everyone–despite being fully vaccinated–came down with COVID in our home. Everyone, that is, except for me.
I’m a nurse. I know how to protect myself. I know how to protect my family. So why did they all get sick, despite everything we all did right?
I cleaned so much during the three week rampage my fingernails separated half way down the beds. I felt violated. I felt afraid. I was a basket case.
Now, everyone has recovered well. No one was hospitalized. Some have a lingering cough and fatigue. Overall, we have much to be thankful for in comparison to others who have been forced to take this journey of battling COVID-19. But this isn’t a post about vaccines. It’s not about masks or mandates. It’s not about sheltering in place or six feet of separation.
This is a post about feeling helpless against an unseen enemy.
Isn’t that how we’ve all felt since early 2020, that we are running from an invisible terror, wondering if and when the indiscriminate monster is going to find us or our family members? We play and re-play the worst scenarios in our minds of hospitalization and even death. (Note: this imagining is much worse when you are a nurse on the front lines of the pandemic.)
Truth be told, none of us asked for this or any other season of hurt. None of us are guaranteed another day on this earth. This is just how it is to live in a broken world, where the unseen enemy prowls like a lion waiting to devour. The pandemic has just made the reality of our mortality more pronounced.
But God is all about stepping into the broken places with us.
In my novel Before I Saw You (on sale all this month on all e-book platforms), protagonist Jaycee Givens didn’t ask to be surrounded by the horrors of the opioid epidemic. She didn’t ask for an unexpected pregnancy. But with the help of friends like Sudie, her friends at the coffee shop, kind health care workers and others, she was able to see God in the midst of her overwhelming fear and loss.
I’m guessing there is a Sudie in your life, or a coffee shop-like place where you can go and know you are not alone. Maybe it’s your church. Maybe it’s a friend at work. Maybe it’s a neighbor. Maybe it’s an old, faithful dog who presses the curve of his back against you as he sleeps. Maybe, as I discovered while taking a simple nature walk around our little back yard last week, it’s in the simple wonders of creation.
Goodness and God are all around us, in the midst of our pain, in the midst of our fear, in the midst of our shame, in the midst of our losses, even in the midst of this pandemic.
May He bless you and bring you peace, dear friends.
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The last eighteen months have been unlike any others, and I just want to curl up in a ball with my dog until it’s over, especially in the face of more potential pandemic-related restrictions, new virus variants, and overwhelming uncertainty.
After interviewing tens of hundreds of patients over the last six months, overwhelmingly the answer to this question is, “going home.” No matter what the diagnosis–appendicitis, major abdominal surgery, cancer, or worse–the most important thing to patients is to be able to go home.
I considered this in the context of our collective anxiety about the pandemic. Some of us have lost loved ones to the virus. Some of us have contracted the virus and survived. Others have lost jobs, goals, futures, and more. Our mental and spiritual hearts hurt just as much as hospitalized patients hurt physically.
We just want to go home.
Of course I am speaking proverbially since most of those reading this are likely at home, or will be home at the end of the day. But indeed, our hearts ache for a season wrapped in a quilt of peace, sitting beside a hearthside of certainty, nestled in a cozy room, familiar and safe and secure.
No one can say how long this pandemic will linger, how many viral variants we will face, or when–and if–things will return to “normal.” In the midst of that, we must find ways to live with hope in spite of our circumstances, to find a heart-home of peace that allows us the margin to find joy. Fortunately, the Bible has a lot to say about that.
1) Home is peace. While we are promised trouble in this world, we are also promised peace in the midst. Our secure dwellings may not be made of bricks and mortar, but indeed of something greater: peace in quiet resting places with the Lord.
What does this look like in the midst of a global pandemic? I’ve been searching for that answer as well. Pushing aside the overwhelming onslaught of news and social media, I’ve found peace in the smallest of things: butterflies lighting on my coneflowers, abundance of zinnia blooms, a goldfinch visiting our feeders. Even more, I’ve found a comfort in the way light reflects from favorite books on bookshelves, the graceful slouch of an afghan over the arm of our sofa, of a counter full of snacks for our young adult sons. We are together and we are well. That is peace. That is home.
My people will abide in a peaceful habitation, in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places. Isaiah 32:18 ESV
2) Home is presence. In the same way that peace is found in the cozy shadows and gardens of our physical houses, home is a feeling when the detritus of the world falls away and we can be truly present with our loved ones.
Since we know that our God is a God of community, we can also know that the pressure to isolate, whether physically or more subtly with masks and headphones, is a threat to the bonds God intended for us have in order to encourage each other. That’s not to say that masks and social distancing are not appropriate–as a nurse on a designated COVID hospital unit I acknowledge the importance of this more than most. What I propose is that we continue to be diligent in our friendships and community with others, so that together and with wisdom we continue to discover joy in the midst of all this hard.
By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches. Proverbs 24:3-4
3) Home is eternal.
As I type, I’m sitting on my beloved back patio. Wind is rushing through the tree limbs, cardinals sing, and the last rays of sunlight dapple the world around me. I give thanks many times a day for the little home we’ve renovated and worked so hard to make our very own. At the same time, I know this bricks-and-mortar home is fleeting. Natural disaster, unforeseen financial difficulties, and anything in between could remove it from our lives forever.
In the same way, the pandemic threatens all of us. Nothing is for certain. Not our earthly homes. Not our physical well-being. Nothing. Nothing except for the promise of 2 Corinthians 5:1, which assures us that our true home is eternal and in the heavens.
This is a difficult concept to grasp, let alone surrender to, when faced with the horrific realities of life on earth in the midst of a pandemic. However, how much sweeter our fleeting time will be if and when we can realize that there is a hope–indeed a HOME–beyond all this, and a Father who longs to comfort us there for eternity.
For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. 2 Corinthians 5:1 ESV
I pray these three reminders–hope is peace, hope is presence, and hope is eternal–help redirect the anxiety in your heart toward the faithfulness of out Lord, and that you discover a heart-hope of peace as we navigate these uncertain days together.
Outside, ice pelts the window and slicks the sidewalks, and the gray skies wrap my little world with a gloomy sort of comfort as I sit on my bed with my pup and my brand new calendar/planner.
The ambivalence of looking back over the unimaginable past year causes a wrench in my gut I’ve grown accustomed to…an ache of dread, my whole body overwhelmed with the lactic acid build-up of a year of bracing myself for whatever hell is looming around the next corner.
When my husband and youngest son and I watched the ball drop in Times Square last night, the relief felt strange and temporary. After all this time spent emotionally—even physically—hunkering down against the 2020 tsunami, I’m finding it difficult to straighten myself enough to look up, let alone ahead.
One of my all time favorite books is Mudhouse Sabbath, by Lauren Winner. In the chapter on grief, Lauren describes the Jewish tradition of praising God in the midst of grief and mourning, even and especially when you don’t feel like it. By continuing to speak truths about God’s goodness and faithfulness, we eventually come around to feeling that goodness and faithfulness again.
Today, I don’t feel like celebrating. I don’t feel like writing my annual turn-of-the-year blog post. My soul is just plain raw from being a healthcare worker in the midst of this pandemic, from the normal, everyday effects of this pandemic, from the heart-rending social unrest in our country, and from a few other significant and personal losses of 2020. And yet, my head knows God has been so good and merciful to me and my family through it all.
So I’m writing this blog today anyway.
I may not be steadfast, but my God is.
First off, my favorite reads of 2020.
Frustratingly, I fell far short of my 75 book goal for 2020. I read over 90 in 2019, so I thought 75 was modest and obtainable. But I only got around to 41. Even then, I regret that I didn’t even really like most of the ones I read. Maybe in another year I would have liked some of them better, but I doubt it. Picking up books in 2020 felt like picking chocolates out of a Whitman’s Sampler box and getting all the nasty ones.
They weren’t all bad, though. Seven stood out to me:
1. Cutting for Stones, by Verghese: This one actually made it to my all-time favorites list. Just so beautifully written and engaging and thought-provoking; even life changing.
2. The Dutch House, by Patchett: Beautiful, descriptive prose, and set in Brooklyn, NY, which I had the chance to visit on the verge of the pandemic. Loved the story. Love that city.
3. A Time For Mercy, by Grisham: Pure entertainment, consistent with his earlier and better work. Also, the return of Jake Brigance. how can you not love a book that makes you picture Matthew McConaughey as the protagonist the whole time you’re reading?
4. The Guest List, by Foley: Again, pure entertainment. A great mystery that kept me guessing. It’s rare that I find a book I can’t put down, and this was one for sure.
5. Such a Fun Age, by Reid: A solid story and enthralling plot that spoke convictingly to the societal, racial issues of today without being preachy. Loved it.
6. House Calls and Hitching Posts, by Hoover: A heartwarming read when I needed my heart to be warmed. The true stories of a doctor to the Amish that reminded me all over again why I love being a nurse.
7. You Can’t Touch My Hair, by Robinson. In a year in which book sellers bombarded us with must-read books on race (many of them very angry and not even written by POC), I found this one to be at once convicting, honest, and inspiring, because it really helped me see what life is like for POC. Robinson made me feel like she was talking to me as a friend, and at the end of the day, that is the kind of language that will help heal our nation.
These seven were definitely great reads.
I’m looking forward to more and better books in 2021…
…and here is my stack of priority reads on my bedside table. Strout, Robinson, and Kingsolver are three of my all time favorite authors, not to mention inspirations behind my writing.
I am continuing to read more books on race, and the parts I’ve read of Memorial Drive and I’m Still Here are really, really good so far. There are also a couple of nature books and books for research for a new novel I’m beginning to write.
This stack of books alone is good reason for me to look forward to 2021.
I enjoy the tradition of choosing a word as a sort of umbrella of conviction and inspiration for my year. For a long while I didn’t feel like I’d be able to identify one, but then RESTORE jumped out at me and I am clinging to it.
What better word for 2021, after all? The weariness is multifaceted for all of us, isn’t it? We long for restoration for our bodies, our minds, our spirits, our souls.
The best part of this word is that it just so happens to be the theme of my all-time favorite Bible verses, Joel 2:25:
“I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten—the great locust and the young locust, the other locusts and the locust swarm…”
Years ago I went through a dark time and planted a locust tree in our back yard as a way to remind me of this verse. Skinny and sparse at the time, it now provides shade across our entire patio, allowing us to sit outside in the heat of the summer.
The whole chapter of Joel 2 speaks to how God redeems a time that seemed irredeemable and inescapable for Israel. Not only does He redeem, he pours out His love and grace and peace out on His people on the other side of that time.
If you’re like me, maybe you don’t feel right now that any part of 2020 is redeemable. Maybe you feel like the doom and gloom of it are clawing at your heels in their attempt to cling and hijack their way into the new year.
But feelings are fleeting, friends.
Our God is faithful.
He will restore and redeem and renew.
So, happy new year, dear friends!
Praying peace and RESTORATION for each of you in 2021 and beyond!