The Hope of Learning in The Time of COVID

It’s been weeks. They tell us it will be months.  

Months of masks and antiseptic sprays and hand sanitizers everywhere you look.
Months of social distancing, watching for those taped lines in stores that dictate how far... how long... 
Months of metered engaging with friends and family through social media, which really isn’t much “engagement” at all.
Months of “foraging” for food in various grocery stores and markets, putting together meals with pantry staples, and whatever is available on any given day.
Months!
And a friend just told me “they” are saying it will be a two years.  
I don’t think I want to know that. I certainly don’t need to know that.

It has not been an easy time for most, and for many, it has been a catastrophic time, filled with loss and heartache and bone-deep weariness and sadness.

For sure, these have been difficult times.  And yet...

There has been much written about the more positive social changes that are evolving as a result of this recent social seismic shift.  As life-changing as any earthquake or tsunami, this microscopic virus has upped the game, shifted norms, brought about such cosmic social upheaval, it’s nearly impossible to comprehend in any rational way.

So, in order to better understand and cope with what was - and is - happening around me and around the world, I decided to take a few moments to take stock of what I am learning in these challenging times:

• I am learning anew the beauty of morning’s unveiling; that sense of holy anticipation as sun slowly peaks up through hills of rocks and trees, the birds’ wake-up hymn of thanksgiving to a new dawn, a new day. With no office to rush to, no schedule imposed, I breathe in the morning’s dewy peace, and I am learning to settle into a slower, more measured rhythm.

• I am learning to put morning prayer, meditation, quietness as my first and highest priority.  Morning quiet time has been my norm for 32 years, but I am learning  it is more important now than ever before. This time of soul centering is critical to grounding me in these times of uncertainty. Only in the blessedness of my solitude, in the breathless moment of each morning’s “now” can I find the courage to forge into this day of unknowing.

• I am learning to  focus on the good in my immediate small-world: the spring green of the unfolding leaves, the crystal blue of a mid-morning sky; the quiet drizzled hush of rain upon new grass; the gentle swaying of newly-sprung flowers, the heady shout of the lilacs and lilies of the valley run amuck in my little slice of heaven.  Focusing on what is good here strengthens me to embrace the difficulties that lie outside the perimeter of my home.

• I am learning to be careful with the resources I have. Paper towels and flour have earned new status as treasures in my home. I have gained a new respect for my mother’s conserving of all manner of things, knowing that nothing is of infinite supply.  Conserving and care of what we have helps me to remember to be a good steward of all I own; and thus - I hope - become a better steward of earth and its particular resources.  And in being a better steward, I am learning to be thankful for the most mundane of things.  It’s a simplification that I hadn’t anticipated.

• I am learning that there is a sanctity in reaching out and connecting with those with whom we had once gathered casually, without thought - those very same people we cannot now feel skin to skin.  The ability to touch, to hug - I’ve learned it is a holy and loving thing I used to take for granted, and I long for the day that I’ll be able to hug my daughters and grandchildren deep and long. 

• I am learning that there is truly nothing new under the sun.  As an amateur student of history, I’ve always been drawn to the lives, struggles and triumphs of those who’ve gone before.  I am currently studying the English mystic Julian of Norwich who lived in the late 12th century.  She wrote her masterpiece “Revelations of Divine Love” during the  time of the Black Death, the Hundred Years’ War and the Peasants’ Revolt - all horrifically violent and difficult events.  Though little is known about her, scholars believe that she lost her husband and children to the plague, yet survived to spend the rest of her life as a joyful recluse, writing, praying and counseling those who sought her peace and wisdom. She wrote a book about God’s love that is so evocative and moving that it  has survived 700 years, and is still considered one of the most beautiful of mystical tomes. I’m learning that hard times and sickness and loss are the common thread that binds all mankind across the centuries, transcending geographical space. I am learning that great beauty and wisdom are born of heartache and loss. I am learning that we, in the 21st century, are no different from those who survived multiple plagues, wars, famines and disaster across the millennia; we are not to be excluded from the human condition - even in the First World.  I am  learning we adapt, and we survive.

• I am learning that grace is hard to come by, sometimes, in this time of crisis. There is anxiety and fear, misinformation and innuendo, hype and hysteria. It takes effort - and yes, courage - to rise above the negative speak of the news and social media. I am learning that I must intend grace; that my giving of grace, regardless of the times, must be intentional, and above all - honest. This giving of grace requires my full attention and focus, and I am learning that sometimes it is a most difficult lesson, but nonetheless, a most valuable one.

• I am learning that to survive this time, I cannot look at the weeks or months - or God forbid - at the years.  I must look at each day as it unfolds, hour by hour, with its own particular blessings and difficulties.  I cannot let the weight of time distract me from the blessing of this moment.  God alone directs my days, my hours, my moments.  It is in each day that I will find His love and grace that will uncover the blessing of the present.  I am learning that I do not have the strength to cope with next week or next month: but I have all that I need to deal with today.  With now. I am learning that is enough. I am learning it needs to be enough.

If you will note, my lessons are not “learned”.  I have not learned, but I am learning.  This is a process, an unfolding of new strengths given for new and difficult days. Even in my mid-sixties, I am learning that life-lessons continue and evolve, and for that, I am ever grateful. I pray that I will continue to learn until my last breath.

My prayer for those of you reading this blog today is that you are also learning; learning new ways to cope, to reach out, to heal. Learning how to give grace, and receive blessing. I am hopeful that you will be filled with hope for tomorrow through the grace given you for today. In that paradigm, I believe we can survive anything.