Snapshots of a “normal” week in COVID-19

When we’re #safeathome every day melts into the next. They tumble and fall together like a snowball rolling down a hill. What makes each day, or even week different? Except for the weather, and growing signs of spring, many of my days feel eerily similar. These 400 word daily reflections on an observation from my day were written in late March-early April as part of a writing assignment with my Writing Mentorship hosted and led by Lore Wilbert. Yet, they could have been this past week. So enjoy, I hope you find them thought provoking. 

Day 1: Saturday

The baby raccoon fell off my roof and died.

 I heard my neighbours yell, so I came out of my front door and there it was. Lying in the middle of our shared driveway, waiting to be run over. It was so young its eyes hadn’t opened yet. My heart hurt, seeing something so pure and innocent gone from the world. Life gets snatched up quickly as death scours the world looking for its next vulnerable victim. 

On Thursday some rough and tough worker men spent almost a full day on our roof trying to fix holes and check for raccoons who have holed up inside. They did the same job earlier this fall and “raccoon proofed” the attic. It obviously didn’t work. Much to the disappointment of my landlord’s bank account I believe. So they came back. They found two baby raccoons in the attic, removed them and placed them in a box on the roof. They hoped the mother would return and move them somewhere else. Meanwhile they placed a one way trap door so anything left inside could escape but couldn’t go back in. 

Did I mention it’s been cold and rainy for a few days? Most likely the baby raccoons never left our roof. Who knows what happened to the mother. But the litter has been left up there, exposed to the elements of our temperamental spring weather. I understand why it’s unwise to let a den of raccoons live in your attic. I get it. They’re loud, destructive, and leave feces. I wouldn’t want to live hearing them scratch and bump above me. But shouldn’t all creatures have a right to some sort of home? What are animals to do, now that humans encroach all the more into their natural habitat? No matter where we build houses, the same geese return every year to lay eggs and hatch their young. Squirrels dig in the same gardens, and scratch their teeth on the same trees. And raccoons apparently return to the same hideouts to find safe shelter for their young.

We stood standing around and looked at the dead baby raccoon that barely had a chance to live. A life, albeit not human, that was still created with purpose and dignity. My neighbour took a snow shovel, scooped it up and dumped it in her compost bin.

Well, I thought, what was the point of that?

Day 2: Sunday

Walking along the wooded path, I lift my eyes up towards the sky and see the tops of the trees sway. Where are we going? We followed the blue trail markers over logs, through muddy leaves, around streams, and over bridges. This trail that’s supposed to be a loop, hasn’t looped, and so we find ourselves walking–not aimlessly–but wondering where we are headed. It’s peaceful within the shelter of the trees, and only a little bit eerie as we hear trees fall close by. Warm air blows around us reminding us that spring is really on it’s way. 

We chat as we walk. About life. Where are we going? We talk about having children, when to have children, how to parent, and what to call them. The unknown challenges of parenthood can seem as ominous as the dark clouds that loom above us. Will we enjoy being parents, we ask ourselves? In a season of isolation, quarantine, and unknown futures I am reminded of the heavy responsibility to care for others. Being newly married with no children does make the adjustment and changes of COVID-19 a bit easier, when compared to my friends with young children. 

We reflect on the sermon from our church we listened to this morning. The threat of the virus has stirred panic and fear in our society and community. Where are we going? Stores have closed, families are separated, friends are getting tested. Never before in our generation have we been reminded of how mortal we are. How fast the normalcy of life can be lost. The future of our economy, local businesses, health, work, and lives hangs in the balance of God’s sovereignty. Will we trust him? We must above all else. 

Eventually we backtrack and find more trail markers to follow. This one leads us beside the Speed river, rushing full and powerful after a weekend of rain. It’s drier here, much to the thankfulness of my hiking shoes. It’s a shorter path too, arriving at our car much quicker than we expected. Trying to brush off our shoes of mud we climb back into our car and discuss what’s next, after our afternoon of adventuring. Starbucks, we agree. Thankfully we can order over an app and pick up through drive through. Small mercies. 

The truth is, we don’t always know where we are going. But at least, we think, we are together. 

Day 3: Monday

If I’m not careful, thoughts of doubt and insecurity can easily creep into my work–my writing, editing, and leading. Heck, let’s be honest for a hot minute. They creep in even when I’m most careful. It’s humbling to realize that even my best isn’t good enough. All of my efforts to strive, work hard, be creative, and lead others well can’t drown out the fears in my head and heart that I’ve missed the mark. That I’m not enough. Or that I’m too much. 

Today as I sat at my computer and looked ahead to the work, meetings, and decisions that loomed I felt small and timid. Lord, I prayed, help me. Was I going to be able to do it? Was I going to be able to participate and help lead meetings with coworkers much more experienced than me? Was I going to be able to edit and make the right decisions on content to produce in a season of uncertainty and grief? Was our content going to minister to our readers, or was it going to fall flat? 

I don’t think my co-workers see the fullness of myself. It’s too easy to put on a brave face, even when my heart quivers and is unsure. It’s too easy to collaborate and work with others, even if I’m deeply craving affirmation in anxiety of doing the wrong thing. But if I let my fears and anxieties hold me back, what would happen? I think the world and my workplace would carry on just fine without me. But I would miss a chance to see the power and glory of God on display. 

I’m learning as I partner with Jesus in my work that at both my worst and best, it’s God’s power that ultimately shines through me. And that’s not even a trite answer–even when it’s tempting to see it as one. When I suck as writing, it’s God’s power that works in the heart of the reader. When I make poor decisions, my supervisor and co-workers–through God–extend grace and love to me. Even when I’m rocking it at work, God humbles and reminds me that it’s his Spirit at work in me. 

So I took a deep breath, said a prayer, and plunged into the grind of what the day offered. Smiling, because I wasn’t alone. I had the Lord of the Most High shining, regardless of me.

Day 4: Tuesday

I stood at my kitchen sink, dirty dish in my hand, and saw the oil splatter that landed on my favourite elephant t-shirt from Thailand. The frustration started bubbling up inside of me. No, actually, the stress had been bubbling up all afternoon. Now it was starting to erupt. Like a volcano of rage I yelled and stormed into my bedroom. Seeing the unfolded laundry left by my husband two days prior, I kicked the laundry basket sending it all over the floor. I instantly felt regret. This isn’t how I should handle my anger, I tell myself. I pick up the laundry basket and feel shame. More frustration bubbles and I kick the laundry basket over again. Then I kick the wall. And stomp. 

Fits of anger are ugly and horrible things you know. They promise so much–freedom, release, selfish gratification–but under deliver. They don’t produce the rest, peace, connection, or relief that we desperately need. Instead I felt an emptiness after stomping around, yelling, and releasing all my pent-up emotion. An exhaustion. God, I thought, what now?

In so many of my work meetings we check-in emotionally with others and see how they are feeling and doing. Many people say that they are learning how to give themselves grace in this season. Most people’s work-from-home productivity has dropped to 50-75% if they’re lucky. Others feel so emotionally heavy and bogged down they struggle functioning in even one meeting a day. Have I slowed down? Barely. With no kids, just my husband at home, and both of us healthy, why should we slow down? What does extending grace look like for us? For me?

Honestly, I don’t know. It could look like giving myself less meetings and more margin. Scheduling in times of prayer and refreshment in my day. Feeling okay with the reality that sometimes I don’t feel okay. And pushing to accomplish more, or be more productive, won’t fix my emotions or my heart. Maybe grace looks like a focus on being present, instead of doing more. Present in my body. In my relationships. Present before God in undistracted prayer and stillness. Will that help me pause and process my anger and frustration so I don’t erupt in rage? I really hope so. 

I thought I was adapting and adjusting really well to this whole work-from-home, COVID-19 pandemic, but I am clearly still figuring it out.

Day 5: Wednesday

The sun warmed my face as I sat in my car, driving for the first time in almost a week. It felt amazing to get out and do something, anything really. How badly I needed that sun today–God knew. He really does bless us with good, encouraging, and comforting gifts when we really need them. I sat in the grocery store plaza parking lot waiting for Chatime to finish my UberEats order so I could pick it up. Bags full of food filled my backseat. Going grocery shopping with a fairly empty store definitely had it’s perks. I didn’t feel rushed or stressed, and I could find my items at a leisurely pace. One of the blessings of a pandemic I guess is that less people are out shopping. Fine with me–I needed to stretch my legs anyways. 

I think this COVID-19 experience will be written about as a global tragedy for the rest of my life. Just like the years of WWI and WWII are still the stage of books, movies, and tv-shows. The far-reaching impact of such a world event, and the potential generational trauma, will be processed in due time. But what will the impact be on me? My family? My future children? 

I hope I will forever see the fruit borne in this season and not forget it. Serving strangers with kindness and meals. Uplifting and cheering on each other as we stay home. Smiling when we go out for walks. The small joys of counting spring days and choosing to look ahead with hope. Receiving grace to feel, rest, and pause when we need to. The art of letting go of expectations, desires, wishes, and surrendering them at God’s feet–trusting in his sovereign plan before our own. 

I hope I never take what is lost now, for granted, when it’s hopefully returned. Connection with friends. Gathering for meals and conversations around tables. The simple act of walking to a coffee shop, or the freedom to go shopping. 

It will all return in time. This too shall pass. For now, I can celebrate small wins. Simple freedoms. The feeling of the warm spring sun on my face as I wait for a drink to deliver to my husband. The ability to drive around easily with a car and bless others with delivering their groceries. Gratitude that God remains fully in control of all things–coronavirus included.

Day 6: Thursday

Grace day. Didn’t have time to write. 

Day 7: Friday

Thank you for working so hard, my husband says to me as he begins his day of work. It’s Friday–my house cleaning day. The day I vacuum, scrub toilets, wash windows, and fight the never-ending battle against dust. I tidy our rooms, organize papers, put away old projects, and water plants. Today I’m also working on-and-off all day, baking homemade sourdough bread. I do work hard, and I’m thankful for it. 

My house cleaning Fridays were my rhythm before we worked solely from home, and I’m grateful that I can still keep that schedule in this new COVID-19 season. Now as we spend all of our hours in our home, having spaces that are clean, tidy, and functional are so important to our mental health. I am blessed by my husband’s amazing cooking, and he is blessed with my commitment to cleaning our toilet. 

I love my job in ministry, and being raised by a single mom, I always imagined I would primarily work outside the home even if I had a family. That’s what was modelled to me. But now as I’m married and have grown to know myself more, I’m not sure if that’s what is best for me. The reason why I work at my job four days a week, and have Fridays for housework, is because I can’t do it all at the same time. 

My husband calls me an F1 engine. In Formula 1, cars drive 300mph but then are broken at the end of the race. I can work myself to the bone, in some mania-induced cleaning. Or even in the office under a tight deadline. But then I’m done. I have nothing else to offer. I’m filled with frustration, anxiety, and feel empty. Living and working like an F1 engine is not sustainable for my long-term health or relationships. I’m trying to learn a different way.  

I’m thankful that God has blessed me with the desire and ability to work hard in many things. In relationships, in my own growth and development, in my faith, in my job, and also in my home. Yet I also see my frailty, weakness, and inability to balance all things perfectly. I’m not sure I can be sold on the societal ideal of the “do it all” woman. Instead, I strive to be a hard-working woman, who sees her limits and is trying to work within them. 

Photo by Nathan Dumlao