Hurry Up and Wait… and Wait

“Melting Clock”: Salvador Dali-style decor

Time is weird. Sometimes it flies, other times it crawls, and still other times it seems to simply stand still. We have a lot of verbs in English to describe time’s activities from marching on to healing all wounds to running out. Time can also passively accept our actions, as we bide it, buy it, waste it, or even (quite morbidly) kill it. Time can be good, borrowed, or in its prime. Yes, there are plenty of ways to describe time.

I would also argue that, as many phrases exist for describing time, there are even more ways to experience it. And one of the most–shall we say?–unique ways to experience time is at the tail end of pregnancy. In this 2- to 4- week window, time somehow manages to expand and s—t—r—e—t—c—h itself to never-before-seen limits. And, like the symptoms that accompany an ever-stretching pregnant belly, it can be a whole lot of (not very) fun. And it’s in this late-stage-of-pregnancy liminal space that I find myself, again in the ridiculous Georgia heat. As of yesterday, I am 39 weeks pregnant with our second kiddo, and I am SO. READY. TO. BE. DONE. I know the end is in sight—my doctor won’t let me go past 41 weeks, so the maximum remaining time is 13 days—but the gap from now until the baby boy’s ultimate “eviction date” feels daunting, to say the least.

While the end is certainly coming, and I know that our little guy will be here by September 25^th at the very latest, there’s also the very high chance he will be born on his own terms sometime before then. After all, babies prefer to set their own schedules, and their “escape” is often no exception. In other words, this baby boy could arrive LITERALLY ANY TIME IN THE NEXT TWO WEEKS, DAY OR NIGHT. This ongoing ambiguity, as you might guess, makes it nearly truly impossible to plan anything. Having friends over for dinner? Out the window. Jim’s monthly work daytrip to Chattanooga? Canceled. Meal-planning and grocery shopping for the whole week? That’s cute. We are well into the “wait” phase of the “hurry up and wait,” and there’s not much we can do about it.

At least we are more prepared this time around, both from the knowing-what-to-do-with-a-newborn standpoint and from the having-a-renovated-home perspective. Most notably, our kitchen is fully functional (yay!), and we don’t have a toilet in our back hallway anymore. These are the “wins” I need to keep in mind as I sit, yet again, in front of the box fan which is in front of the AC vent and try not to sweat through my clothes for the umpteenth time this week.

As long and drawn out as this process feels, though, I am also keenly aware that season is temporary. While it seems like I will be pregnant (and ridiculously hot/sweaty) forever, the reality is that the end is so very close. Even the parts of it that seem permanent, from the random mood swings to the very vibrant stretch marks, will eventually fade with time. I recognize that as well that, although “pregnancy purgatory” is its own special variety of limbo, waiting is a key part of life. So with that in mind, how can I learn to live fully in in-between spaces like this one? Put differently, how can I, as a normally “go-go-go” person, learn to wait well?

I do not claim to have the perfect answer to this question—and this final phase of pregnancy are definitely pushing me to my limits—but over the years, I have learned that being grateful and being present lie at the heart of waiting well. Time, even in its most excruciatingly slow forms, remains one of life’s most precious gifts. And living in the moment—even when that moment feels painfully long or incredibly slow—helps us become more fully human, more fully aware of our temporality, and more fully able to engage with others in meaningful ways. And how do we practice being present? This is where thankfulness can help. In all my years of thinking about time (I’m a historian, after all) and finding ways to capture time (through taking way too many photographs and journaling each night before bed), I’ve found that intentional thankfulness makes a real difference. The more often we pause to name the specific gifts and blessings in our lives, the more in tune we become with God’s goodness—even in difficult seasons of waiting. In short, gratitude is grounding.

So even though, yes, I am very tired of being very pregnant, and yes, I wish Georgia would finally cool down a bit, for goodness’s sake, I am also thankful for so many things: for the sweet time this past weekend as a family of three; for my toddler who is so excited to be a big sister; for my husband who has taken such good care of me, especially as my belly (and physical limitations) have grown; for friends and neighbors who have offered to bring us meals after baby boy arrives; for the chance to go to church one more time on Sunday; for a working HVAC system and a clean/organized house (again, not the case last time around); for spontaneous phone dates these last few weeks; and for a healthy and uncomplicated pregnancy up to this point. To quote one of my daughter’s favorite Dr. Seuss books, “There’s so much to be thankful for.” And, the more I remember this reality and pause and take stock of the blessings around me, the more peace (and less frustration) I feel in the waiting.

Alright, that’s enough deep thoughts for today. I am seriously so hot. Can snowcones help induce labor? I think I hear one calling my name…

Photo Credit: Anchor + Oak Photography

No-Go Yogurt

Nothing will make you realize that your actions have consequences like having a toddler.

Note that I am talking about my actions and their consequences, not about teaching my toddler about the consequences of her actions. Let me explain.

A few weeks ago, we had the first Monday of our “new schedule.” In this plan, Jim hangs out with Hope until lunchtime on Monday morning, and I have between 2 and 3 hours of creative space to write, plan, outline, etc. Pure magic! That is, until I waltzed into the kitchen while he was making oatmeal and made 3 critical errors:

1) I grabbed a clear ponytail holder and put Hope’s hair into a “fountain”

2) I took Hope’s hair out of the “fountain”

3) I snagged a flavored Greek yogurt from the fridge.

Now, on their own, neither of these are mistakes, per se. But taken in context, they weren’t exactly wise moves. You see, we are actively trying to get Hope to stop sucking her fingers as a comfort action. It was great when she was a baby and needed to self-soothe, but now that she has almost all her teeth, it’s messing up her orthodontic future. When she has a ponytail and is bored, she will play with her hair with one hand while sucking the fingers on her other hand. It’s an almost automatic response, especially when she has nothing else to entertain her… such as when she is waiting on breakfast. Mistake #1 = made.

Once I realized this (or better, “remembered” this—as her mom, I definitely should have known she would respond with finger-sucking), I reached over and took out the ponytail holder. As you might have guessed, this did not go over well. And by that, I mean that she melted into a crying toddler puddle. Mistake #2 = made.

Then came the kicker: instead of moving toward her and explaining (again) why we don’t want her sucking on her fingers, I turned to the fridge and grabbed a mixed berry Greek yogurt. I was hungry and needing to get out the door for my sacred writing space. But because Hope was having oatmeal for breakfast and not Greek yogurt, this move did not go over well. Now thanks to the power of suggestion and her present state of meltdown, she desperately wanted my yogurt. Mistake #3= made.

And while all of this happened in the span of approximately 1 minute, the recovery and reset took substantially longer. After calmly asking me and my yogurt to leave the room, my husband proceeded to guide our daughter out of her frustrated, emotion-filled space.

Obviously, on their own, none of my actions were “wrong,” but collectively they showed a lack of awareness, both of my surroundings and of my family members. And while Hope’s ponytail-and-yogurt-induced meltdown wasn’t technically my fault—even though she is a toddler, she is still responsible for her reactions—my actions certainly didn’t set her up for success. If I had been more in tune with the situation, I would have recognized that my three moves (making the ponytail, undoing the ponytail, eating the yogurt) were bound to have some less-than-stellar results. So why, then, did I do them?

There are likely a few different reasons.

1) I was in my own little world. Excited to have a dedicated time and space for my creative work, I breezed through my morning routine and into the kitchen, not pausing to notice what was already happening, i.e. that my husband was actively making oatmeal, not dishing up yogurt, and that he had chosen not to put Hope’s hair in a ponytail. Had I taken a moment to observe my surroundings, I wouldn’t have unintentionally “stirred the pot.”

2) As a result of reason #1, I didn’t think about the impact of my actions. Despite being a historian and constantly emphasizing the importance of cause and effect to my students, sometimes I can be remarkably clueless about the consequences of my own actions. Of course abruptly taking away my daughter’s comfort ponytail wasn’t going to go over well. And then immediately flaunting a yogurt she couldn’t have was only going to exacerbate the situation. For someone so “book smart,” sometimes I can be incredibly “life dumb.” (insert facepalm emoji here)

Fortunately, though, this set of mistakes did not ultimately define the day. My husband helped get Hope back on track, and based on the photos he texted, they had a great morning of daddy-daughter adventuring. I still made it to campus and had a productive window of creative thinking and writing, as evidenced by this blog entry. Toddlers can have blessedly short memories, and the thankfully consequences of my cluelessness didn’t last long past my hasty exit.

That said, I want to take that morning’s misadventure as a reminder to be more aware of how my actions affect others. While there is nothing wrong with being excited about the next thing—and I am so grateful for things to be excited about—I don’t want this “forward focus” to prevent me from tending to those around me. Maybe this is why the Bible repeatedly reminds us to slow down and pay attention:

• “Remember this, my dear brothers: Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry” (James 1:19)
• “If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.” (Proverbs 18:13)

And the real kicker:

• “Desire without knowledge is not good, and whoever makes haste with his feet misses his way.” (Proverbs 19:12)

In our fast-paced world and our go-go-go lives, it can be so easy we lose sight of the needs, circumstances, and perspectives of others. For me, these verses are a helpful reminder to pause, breathe, and take stock what is happening before coming in like a proverbial wrecking ball. (Yes, that song will now be stuck in your head all day. Sorry, not sorry.)

Alright, that’s enough deep thoughts for this morning. It’s time for lunch. Maybe I’ll stop on the way home for some Chick-fil-A… and I’ll get enough to share with Hope! 😉

“Hair-fountain” aftermath 🙂

Best-Laid Plans…

It would be an exaggeration to say that we had “grand plans” for our 5^th anniversary. We did, however, have plans. After a morning hangout with Jim’s sister, who had stayed with us after landing at the airport the night before, we were going to head up to Jim’s parents’ house and spend the day making “Christmas in July” cookies with some cousins. We planned to stay until after dinner that evening and then head home and watch a movie after putting Hope to bed. The next day was Sunday, so we thought we’d venture down to Midtown after church and grab brunch at one of our favorite go-to restaurants from when we were dating. No, they weren’t “grand plans” by any means, but they were plans all the same.

Those plans were immediately shelved when Hope woke up on Saturday covered in puke. Our sweet girl had thrown up at some point that morning and then continued to vomit several times during the next few hours. It was not pretty, nor was it pleasant for anyone involved. Poor thing!

And with that, our plans shifted from cookie-making to “cookie-tossing.” Our “date” to Midtown turned into a trip to the pediatrician’s office. Yes, the best laid plans of mice, men, and mamas often go awry…

Yet looking back, this was exactly the type of day that we needed. Rather than our planned busyness with extended family—fun though it would have been—we ended up sitting on the couch together reading books and just relaxing. (I literally cannot remember the last time we did that.) Once Hope was up from her nap and it was clear that the medicine was working, she joined us on the couch and “read” her own books. It was the sweetest little family time… although after she had a fruit popsicle snack for “hydration purposes,” she then became the most hyper/spazzy I think I had ever seen her! Instead of cooking an elaborate dinner or going out to eat, we opted to make a dent in our leftovers supply. This freed us up to go for a walk as a family around the block—a rare treat since I am usually on dinner duty during this time slot. We held Hope’s little hands and helped her “jump” over cracks in the pavement, all the while enjoying her delighted toddler squeals. After Hope went to bed, we snuggled up and watched a movie together. And that was our 5^th anniversary. No, it wasn’t fancy, and it certainly wasn’t what we had planned, but in the end, it could not have been more perfect.

The longer I live—and the longer I’m married and am a mom—the more I realize that life is often like this. We can (and arguably should plan), but we should also be flexible and willing to pivot. Sometimes the pivoting comes with a new set of challenges, yet other times it leads to an even better outcome than the one we originally intended. Not only can you end up with a sweetly memorable wedding anniversary, but you also just might encounter God in these unexpected places. The book of Exodus offers us a fantastic (or flame-tastic?) “case in point”: the story of Moses and the burning bush. According to the text, Moses was minding his own business, just living another typical day of herding his father-in-law’s sheep in the Midianite backcountry, when he “turned aside to look” at something odd just off the path… and the moment he did that, the trajectory of his life and the lives of countless Israelites changed forever. A key thing to note in this story is that, while God arranged the burning bush to get Moses’s attention, he still had to be open to that change of plans. Thanks to this small detour and this bit of flexibility, Moses found himself on a completely new path—one that would turn him into one of the most renowned leaders in the Old Testament and that would ultimately result in liberating his people from bondage in Egypt.

Now, our 5^th anniversary change of plans didn’t result in the freedom of hundreds of thousands of enslaved Jews; however, it did provide an unexpected respite for our little family. There was no way we would “miss” our puking toddler as Moses could have done with the burning bush, but we could have missed the opportunity to turn that Saturday into an impromptu Sabbath. We could have easily treated it as a bonus workday and tried to get things done around the house and in the yard. But then we would have missed out on the invitation to simply be and, more importantly, to simply be together. Had we tried to keep going and pressed onward with our plans, we would have walked right past the gift of rest that God was so kindly offering to us.

In case you were wondering, we will eventually get to celebrate our anniversary with a weekend away in August, and we did get to enjoy that brunch in Midtown this past Sunday. I’m grateful that both of these opportunities worked out in the end. Yet I am also incredibly grateful for the way our actual anniversary panned out. No, it wasn’t flashy, nor was it “Instagram-worthy,” but it was perfect all the same. God knew what we needed, and in His goodness He made sure that we got it.

So here’s to another five years and beyond of growing in flexibility, learning to pivot, and being open to what God has for us each day… though hopefully it won’t involve more toddler puke!

Ready or Not…

To say that we have a lot going on right now would be an understatement.

As of my writing this post, our kitchen has been under construction for five weeks, and during that time its entire contents (including pantry, dishes, and all appliances) have been hanging out in our living/dining room. Our master bath, which was also gutted around the same time, is now mostly done; however, we are waiting on a new vanity and a shower head before we can actually start using it. (But hey, at least we no longer have a toilet in our hallway). As a result, the itty-bitty sink in our guest bathroom is currently our only water source. I feel like I’m back at Oklahoma State living the dorm life, washing my hands and my dishes in the same undersized sink. The top of our clothes dryer now houses our drying rack for dishes, and it all looks very, very classy.

This would feel like a lot in a normal life season, but this season happens to be anything but normal. Because yes, in the midst of all this home-reno craziness, I’m also 39 weeks pregnant. Which means we could be welcoming a newborn into this chaos literally any day now.

At some point in this long and nutty process, we decided to just laugh. I mean, what else can we do? From the beginning, none of this has been in our control anyway. We started the renovations as soon as we possibly could (phoning our General Contractor was essentially the first thing we did after I got an official offer for a permanent academic job. Yay!). There have been the typical setbacks, hiccups, and subcontractor/supply chain issues along the way, and we’ve simply had to roll with them. Similarly, while we had a certain amount of (*cough*) influence over when our parenthood journey would begin, the timing of our baby’s due date and ultimate arrival has always been out of our hands. As friends and doctors have consistently reminded me, babies come out when babies are ready to come. So all we can do—in response to both these crazy life situations—is wait.

As we were discussing (and chuckling at) this chaos the other day, Jim shared a profound realization: we are having a genuine “Advent” experience… a sort of “Christmas in July,” if you will. During this liturgical season, the Church spends December in active anticipation of Jesus’ arrival at Christmas. We read books, decorate our homes, open paper calendars with daily treats, and try to prepare our hearts for the coming of the baby in the manger. It’s always a bit challenging, though, to meet Christmas with a sense of genuine surprise and wonder because–spoiler alert!–Christmas comes on the same exact day every year. But for Mary and Joseph at the very first Christmas, there was no telling when Jesus would arrive. They had to actively prepare (and walk a really long way to Bethlehem) without knowing precisely when or where their precious baby would make His debut. So, in the midst of a whole bunch of uncertainty and disorder, they did their best to be ready to welcome Him into their hearts and lives. Right now, we are also in a state of uncertainty and disorder (see photos below for proof). We are truly living in limbo. And at the same time, we are also trying to get ready to welcome a baby into our family. No, things aren’t exactly as we would like them… let’s be real; they’re not even close! But, like Mary and Joseph with their very important baby, all we can do is our best with what we have while we wait. After all, that’s what God wants from us anyway.

So as much as we can and as best we can, we are choosing to greet this time of anticipation with excitement rather than frustration, with peace rather than anxiety, with joy rather than annoyance. Because whether we are ready or not (emphasis on the “not“), our baby girl will come in her own timing and her own way. The question is if we can keep leaning into the chaos and learn to enjoy the ride…

… even the ride to the hospital. 😉

Living Room… aka the new home for everything from our Kitchen.

The hall toilet. So classy.

It will be a nursery… someday.

32 :)

Well, I don’t know if you heard, but yesterday was my 32^nd birthday. And although it’s been a few years, I thought I’d bring back my birthday blog tradition of sharing some of key things I learned during the last year. Normally, I would have posted this on the day itself, but since I’m now a grown-up with a real job, I didn’t have a chance. So here they are–a day late and in no particular order–my 32 lessons for my 32^nd birthday:

1. I don’t have to be addicted to coffee.
2. Latte the piggy loves bananas.
3. Gulf Port, Mississippi, and Gulf Shores, Alabama, are NOT the same.
4. Teaching online really isn’t that bad.
5. Audiobooks are surprisingly awesome.
6. Spending time in God’s Word each day makes a tangible difference in my life. (If you’re looking for a nifty way to do that, I recommend the “Bible in One Year” app. It’s awesome! And the narrator has a British accent, which is a definite bonus).
7. If done on a Sunday, the trip from Atlanta to Kansas City can be completed in 11.5 hours.
8. I own waaaaayyyyy too many books, and that’s okay.
9. Selling clothes on Poshmark is trickier than you would think.
10. I actually enjoy running again!
11. Contrary to widespread popular belief, Darth Vader doesn’t actually say, “Luke, I am your father.”
12. My hair doesn’t get that long after 10 months between haircuts.
13. I really, really miss in-person church services.
14. As we all learned in 2020… Life rarely goes the way we think it will, but we are more adaptable and resilient than we probably realized.
15. I can make copycat versions of most of my favorite restaurant recipes, including some great Asian takeout.
16. Friends, near and far and socially distant, make life so much sweeter.
17. Taking the time to get organized can make a huge difference.
18. Always double check that my car’s parking brake is engaged.
19. It is possible to get tired of wearing sweatpants.
20. Being kind and giving people the benefit of the doubt is always a good idea.
21. I can do basic calligraphy!
22. Psych is still one of my all-time favorite TV shows.
23. Even if you have to wait an extra three months for the wedding, watching your little sister get married is so very sweet.
24. Real wild rice cooks much more slowly than the Uncle Ben’s variety.
25. Without fail, spending time outside always refreshes my soul.
26. Don’t try to take I-75 when the President is in town.
27. I am terrible at keeping succulents alive.
28. I have a hard time getting through the entire Lord’s Prayer without yawning.
29. I’m starting to get gray hairs, and that’s taking some getting used to.
30. Grace can be a difficult thing both to accept and to give but–by God’s grace–I am working on it.
31. Picking 150 pounds of pecans doesn’t take as long as you might think.
32. 10+ months of Covid-related quarantine isn’t ideal, but it’s much better when you have an awesome husband to share it with.

And in keeping with birthday tradition… one more to grow on!

The Bonus: God is so faithful and so good.

Looking back over this last year, it’s easy to see all the difficult things that happened and all the places where life went haywire. And there were certainly a lot of them: the global pandemic, the sudden move of classes and church and everything online, the continued financial fallout, the travel bans and the inability to do my summer research in Germany and (later) having to say no to postdocs in Berlin, my sister’s three-month wedding delay, cancelled conferences and trips, the still-inexplicable run on toilet paper, the loss of Jim’s grandfather, unexpected tragedies in my friends’ families, an especially abysmal academic job market, not being able to see friends or family as planned, long stretches of being “in limbo,” so much racial injustice, and the most difficult and divisive election season in my living memory, and simply grieving the loss of what used to be “normal” while wondering what life will look like on the other side.

And yet even in the midst of an incredibly challenging and in many ways heartbreaking year, there have been unexpected bright spots and moments of joy: reconnecting with old friends over the phone because (thanks to the initial shutdown) we both suddenly had the time, learning how to slow down and live more simply, more quality time with Jim, buying our first house together and now living within walking distance of some of our best friends, a newfound appreciation for my church community, weekly Zoom calls with my high school besties, more time to go on walks and runs and just enjoy being outside, and having the chance to start working through some of my deepest insecurities and fears–and actually experiencing healing and freedom from many of them.

No, this year was by no means easy, and I don’t think I would choose to repeat it, but I can’t help but see God’s fingerprints all over it and His faithfulness woven throughout it. Nothing that happened, good, bad or in-between, caught Him by surprise. And while He may have felt distant at certain moments, He never left my side. There is great comfort and peace in knowing that He is Emmanuel, “God with us,” and Jehovah-shammah, “He is there.”

As I was thinking through this post yesterday, this song came to mind and (as songs often do) immediately got stuck in my head. But I think it captures exactly how I feel looking back over this last year and moving into the next one. Have a listen, if you’d like, although fair warning: it may get stuck in your head too.

And now this 32-year-old is in need of a snack… is 11 am too early for birthday cake? 🙂

Apparently, Jeni’s gives you 3 free scoops of ice cream on your birthday! 🙂

Living in Limbo

What a bizarre year it has been.

Actually, “bizarre” doesn’t even begin to cover it. This year has been nothing short of insane. In the “you can’t make this stuff up” sort of way. From COVID lockdowns to wildfires to elections (and, in Georgia, runoff elections… yay) to murder hornets (because why not), this year has brought with it what feels like a lifetime’s worth of challenges. So many things have changed or are in flux that sometimes it feels sometimes like the whole world has been turned upside down. Who would have ever thought that Hallmark Christmas movies featuring holiday parties would feel dated? And who would have ever imagined that movie theater chains could go out of business? And who could have predicted that toilet paper would become the American equivalent of white gold? Like I said, bizarre doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

Yet even in this weird and wacky year that is 2020, we still managed to find a new normal. In my studies of Cold War Germany, I have often thought and read about life in divided Berlin. One day, the city was open. The next day (and built over a few weeks), a wall ran through it. How strange that must have felt. Yet that division lasted for 28 years and some change. During that time, though, the Berliners managed to find their new normal. And according to the sources, this happened faster than you would think. So normal was the division and so ingrained in their minds, in fact, that by the time the the wall finally came down in 1989, the united city struggled to readjust to the new “old” normal.

Like the Berliners of the 1960s, we also have had to find an our new normal in this COVID-marked world. What makes it difficult, though, is that normal itself keeps changing, as soon as we start to find our footing. We’ve figured out how to live in this state of limbo and we’re doing it one day at a time. More often than not, life this year has felt like an algebra equation, one in which every element is a variable, and there are not enough numbers—or any numbers—to solve it with. Are we online for school, or are we not? Is it safe to travel on airplanes or not? Do we need a COVID test to go to this place, or are we okay without it? For how many days should we quarantine if we are exposed? What actually are the symptoms of COVID, and how much do asymptomatic people spread the virus? Which people can I trust to have in my “bubble”? Is it okay to hang out inside if we are wearing masks and keep at a distance? Can kids get the virus? Should we be concerned at all about the vaccine? Etc. etc.

And beyond these general virus-related questions are the questions we each face individually, Like for my sister this summer: how do you (re)plan a wedding with all the appropriate COVID precautions when these are also constantly changing? Or for me and Jim: did it make sense to take a postdoc in Berlin when it would have started in October 2020, i.e. when the second wave was projected to hit? Or what about taking a second postdoc set to begin April 2021, when depending on the state of the pandemic, this might mean not getting to see my family for an entire year? These are just a few of the tough and unexpected questions that COVID forced us to answer.

Despite all the craziness and uncertainty and unanswerable questions, we have still managed to make some pretty big decisions. In March, Jim started his own business and has been evolving and growing ever since. In April, when became clear that my university was experiencing higher than normal enrollment, I decided to take on a few online summer sections and added an extra section to my schedule in the fall. In May, Jim and I decided that renting in the city no longer made sense, and in June we bought our first house. In July, we decided to spend three weeks in Kansas with my family to help them with final wedding. And in April and again in November, after a lot of discussion, prayer, and quite a few tears, we decided that I would turn down the international postdocs. I know this was the right thing to do, even if it was one of the most challenging and counterintuitive decisions I’ve ever had to make.

In more ways than I can count, this year has been difficult, discouraging, and frustrating. I’ve cried and felt more overwhelmed in 2020 than I did when I was taking my PhD qualifying exams, and that’s saying something. But although these difficulties, discouragements, and frustrations are very real, and they are a big part of the story, they have never been the whole story.

Way back in January—oh, how that feels like a lifetime ago—I started listening to the “Bible in One Year” app created by Alpha. Hearing the Bible each day (or most days) has been one of the bright spots of this year. As usually happens for me in any “do this every day” sort of activity, I inevitably fell behind, which meant that today I listened to part of Lamentations. In this book, the prophet Jeremiah is mourning the downfall of Jerusalem, the exile of the Israelites, and the loss of all he holds dear and cares about. Jeremiah is experiencing some deep despair, and rightfully so. His whole world had fallen apart. Then in chapter 3, he says this:

‘So I say, “My splendor is gone
    and all that I had hoped from the Lord.”

¹⁹ I remember my affliction and my wandering,
    the bitterness and the gall.
²⁰ I well remember them,
    and my soul is downcast within me.
²¹ Yet this I call to mind
    and therefore I have hope:

²² Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
²³ They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
²⁴ I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
    therefore I will wait for him.”’

He isn’t going to deny all his pain and suffering. He will not forget how awful things have been and still are. And he is not simply telling himself to “buck up” or “get it together” or “put on a happy face.” He will remember all the sorrow he has experienced, but he refuses to end there. He chooses to call to mind “the Lord’s great love,” and this brings him hope.

I’d be lying if I said that I enjoy living in limbo and that 2020 has been anything close to a “good” year. But while that’s true, I don’t have to let the crumminess be the whole story. Like Jeremiah, I can stay in touch with the struggles of this year, while also choosing to have hope in the Lord. And that’s my prayer for you too, whatever 2020 has brought your way.

And speaking of prayer, let’s ask God for a better 2021. Please, thank you, and amen!

Lenten Living

This has been a very strange Holy Week, to say the least–and it marks the end of a Lent in which we’ve all had to give up more than originally anticipated.

When Lent started, I had planned on giving up some basic things: alcohol (because I love a glass of wine in the evenings, especially while grading); having my phone in my bedroom (because I don’t like that it’s the last thing I look at at night and the first thing that I check in the morning) and excessively holding Latte, my guinea pig (because, yes, that is actually a problem for me). These changes, though small, have served their purpose well, and I’ve realized how much I depend on these habits to make my life feel more enjoyable, or, in the case of my phone, more connected and purposeful. (I also realized how often I want to hold my guinea pig. Now that I’ve Lenten-ly limited it to two times a day, I think Latte is much happier.)

That said, I think we all end up giving up a bit more than we bargained for this Lent, thanks to the coronavirus. Interestingly, the first couple weeks of quarantine made me even more aware of these dependencies. All I wanted to do was drink a glass of wine and snuggle with my therapy critter. We’ve all given up seeing friends, eating out, going to the park, and even going to church… oh, the irony of having to give up going to church for Lent! In some ways our lives have become simpler. We no longer juggle our social engagements or factor in our (often very long) commutes. In other ways, though, things have become more complicated. Now we must plan out our meals more religiously, decide how to prioritize our internet bandwidth, and figure out how to ration our dwindling supply of toilet paper.

Lent is a call to wake up to our own mortality, and that’s also happened too. Ash Wednesday’s words now seem eerily apt: “Dust you are, and to dust you shall return.” As we’ve given up our normalcy, we have confronted anew our limitations and our frailty. Yes, Lent 2020 has been one for the record books; in fact, 2020 itself seems like Lent on steroids. But just as with our other behavioral changes in response to the virus, giving things up is not the point of Lent; rather, we give up things temporarily and for specific purpose. In the case of the virus, we give up meeting together, going to work, and interacting beyond our home sphere in order to “flatten the curve” and to keep the virus from spreading. Social distancing and its inherent sacrifices are not the end in and of themselves; they serve the wider purpose of protecting our health and the wellbeing of those around us.

In the same way, giving up things is not the purpose of Lent. Rather, the point of Lent is to show us our own weakness and our need for a Savior. In Lent, we learn anew that we are frail and we are finite, and we cannot do this on our own. We are reminded again and again throughout the Lenten season that “though we are weak, our Savior is strong” and, to quote the Apostle Paul, God’s “lovingkindness and mercy are more than enough—always available—regardless of the situation; for [His] power is being perfected and is completed and shows itself most effectively in [our] weakness.” The light shines brightest in the darkness, and we experience God’s comfort, peace, and strength in our moments of weakness and fear.

Lent is almost over (though I’m afraid this Lenten-esque season of quarantine is not). How can we more fully embrace–in a metaphorical, socially-distant, contact-free manner–these truths today?

 

“Supposed to…”

 

Savannah, Georgia (by kellyv; licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0 https://live.staticflickr.com/4552/38531961336_c127e6509a_b.jpg)

We were supposed to be in Savannah this weekend.

I have never been, and since we had planned on (likely) leaving Georgia this fall, this seemed like the perfect time to go. Last weekend, I was supposed to be in Kansas City for my younger sister’s bachelorette party. She was supposed to be getting married at the end of this month, and then she was supposed to join her husband in Hawaii for the remaining year and a half of his job contract. So many other things were supposed to happen too but no longer are. My friend Rachel’s PhD hooding ceremony and graduation has been postponed. My cousin’s wedding in St. Louis at the beginning of May isn’t happening, nor is a beach trip with Jim’s family at the beginning of June. My research travel in Germany this summer has also been taken off the books. And these are just within my immediate circle. Around the world, plans are paused, flights are canceled, and “normal life” has been put on hold indefinitely.

The President’s initial goal of “raring to go by Easter”has been replaced by stay-at-home orders around the country and around the world, through the end of April. Elizabeth, my respiratory virology PhD best friend, says this will last until at least the end of May, and other friends at the nearby CDC agree that we are in this for the long haul (one even pushed up her own wedding by two months, so she and her now-husband could be married before he got deployed to help with quarantine efforts). Life as we know it has stopped for the foreseeable future. And all the usual things–and the special things–have ground emphatically to a halt.

No wonder we all have emotional whiplash.

Now what? Where do we go from here? Or more specifically, where do we go from here when we literally can’t go anywhere.

I spent the first couple weeks of quarantine in a state of emotional turmoil, while trying to fill my schedule, effectively allot my time, and generally be overly productive. More recently, though, thanks to reading this article and talking with some of my close friends, including (postposted-PhD-graduation) Rachel, I’ve been trying to slow down. Instead of still rushing from thing to thing to thing, I’m letting myself name and experience these feelings, including sadness and grief.

For instance, I’m sad that we are not in Savannah right now. And I’m sad that we won’t be going abroad this summer. I’m bummed that my sister now has to wait to get married. And I wish Rachel’s graduation could happen like it was supposed to.

Yes, there’s a lot that I’m also grateful for right now. And I’m making a point to name these things too. But right now, I’m trying to give myself the permission to be sad, because that’s what I need this moment.

To quote psychologist Carl Jung, “What we resist persists.What we embrace dissolves.” Being present during the season also means letting myself acknowledge and sit with these feelings of sadness and disappointment. Sitting and simply being is an important part of this process, too.

I hope that someday when all this is over, or behind us, or at least not fully at the forefront, this sitting will pay off. Maybe it’s less like sitting passively on a couch and more like doing “wall sits.” Even though it’s one of my least favorite forms of exercise, this “sitting” will make me more ready to stand and jump and run forward into the new future, whatever it may hold.

 

About Time

Astronomical Clock in Prague’s Old Town Square

What is time?

That has been a recurring question of mine these last few weeks as one day has seemed to blend into another and all the usual schedule-markers are gone. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived my life according to orderly plans and self-made structures. When I don’t have that structure, things don’t go as well. Even as a kid, I made an orderly “chore chart” time schedule for each morning allotting myself a certain amount of time for every task, including making my bed and cleaning the bathroom sink. I remember that, upon reading my schedule which I had proudly posted on the refrigerator door, a friend commenting that I probably didn’t need a whole five minutes to use the bathroom. But in the interest of consistency and order, I had blocked off tasks in increments of time divisible by five. And so five minutes for bathroom-going made the most sense. Whether I really followed this well-intended, perfectly planned-out schedule is highly doubtful. But its existence made me feel better somehow.

I think we all like the sense of bringing order out of chaos and imparting a sort of certainty to the otherwise unbounded unit known as time. I think that’s been one of the most difficult adjustments for me in this new quarantined life. Especially as a historian, I take comfort in the sense of progress and narrative, and knowing how to locate myself within this onward march of minutes and days. Yes. I often have a fraught relationship with time, wishing I had more of it, feeling like I’ve wasted it, and wanting to go back in it to fix what seems to be amiss. But my obsession with time is linked, I think, to my desire to master it, to control it, and to convince myself that if I can tame it or leverage it with some “worthwhile activity,” I will feel more at peace, secure, and safe.

And so this upending of all time-markers has felt disorienting and anxiety-producing, to say the least. Time has leapt out of the bounds I’ve so carefully constructed for it, and I don’t know what to do. I have felt lost and confused and not quite sure how to handle myself now that all the time-calibrations by which I’ve ordered my life are gone. What is time? Something totally different from what it was four weeks ago. Time has slowed down, and all tenses seem to have merged. The past is a lifetime ago, and the future is incredibly uncertain. All that remains now is the present, the here and now. Ironically, the present–the hardest place for us to often be–is now the only place that we can go. We’re quite literally quarantined in “the now,” and we have no choice but to be present.

What does that mean for you and for me, and how do we do that? I’m not sure… but I have a feeling that will have plenty of time to figure it out.

 

No April Fooling

The deserted Social Sciences building on my once-bustling campus.

So much for waking up today and this being one big April Fool’s joke.

Man, I miss how things used to be, the hustle and bustle of normal city life. Now I go on walks and I see maybe 10 cars where there used to be dozens. Feel free to cross the street anywhere, anytime, without even looking both ways. Odds are that nobody’s coming. The three weeks since my last class meeting feels like a lifetime ago. I miss my life. I miss our lives. I miss when the presidential race was the biggest thing on the news. I miss my family. I was supposed to see them this last weekend. I miss community group and having fellowship around the table with people I care about. I miss my commute (as crazy as THAT sounds), and just being on a busy college campus. I miss the routine the schedule, the predictability, but also the variety. Most of all I miss the people. And the little things, like being able to go the grocery store and actually taking my time, not being afraid that the person buying onions next to me is going to get me sick.

I miss the certainty, even in what was unknown. Yes, there were unclear parts of the future. Let’s be real; the whole thing was unclear, but at least it was going to unfold from a set of known options. The possibilities weren’t virtually limitless. And the timeline was relatively clear. I’m homesick for my life before corona, before all of our “normals got snatched,” to borrow Lisa TerKeurst’s phrase. Yes, there are positives. Yes, there are good things still happening. And yes, it’s valuable to slow down and breathe. But right now, in this moment, I just feel sad and helpless.

What a strange feeling to have literally “doing nothing” be the best thing I can do. It gives a whole new meaning to Psalm 46:10,“Be still and know that I am God.” Gosh, I’ve always struggled with that verse, especially since I don’t sit still very easily. I like to do, to feel like I’m contributing somehow, to feel like I’m helping others and thereby adding value. Being still and staying away feels so counterintuitive to me. And honestly, it also feels quite uncomfortable. Even though cognitively I know that rest and slowing down are important, and that I’m not actually that good at multitasking, I still try to do it. I feel safe, secure, and important behind that wall of busy activity. I feel like I’m doing something that matters. And then I feel worthwhile. like I also matter.

Without people to help, things to accomplish, and activities to fill my schedule, who am I? I feel stripped away, naked, and somehow deeply exposed. How can I prove my worth? How can I fight off the gnawing sense of melancholy if I’m not able to DO anything? If I just have to stay put and be still? It feels uncertain and scary, and I feel myself floundering like a person drowning at sea, thrashing about–even though being still and calm and letting myself be rescued is the only thing that can save me. “In quietness and rest is your strength” (Isaiah 30:15) and “The Lord will fight for you while you keep still. ” (Exodus 14:14). There’s quite literally no time like the present to try leaning into those verses.