Don’t Waste These Difficult Days

I’ve been hoodwinked. Flat out robbed. 

There are no bruises on my face. I have all my teeth. My threadbare wallet is still around here somewhere. But a thief has cleaned me out. I’ve been cheated. 

Can you relate?

Situations may differ, but we all feel something has been stolen. Thanks to this pandemic, all plans are foiled.  Here’s where I am. After 12 years at my job, I put in a request for a 4-month Sabbatical—a time of leave to do intentional, deep interpersonal work. My employer kindly granted this time and it was going swimmingly. It started in February after a final work trip to Honduras. I was settling into my plans to read a stack of books, seek mentorship, take long afternoons of exercise, and pass many slow hours with my wife and kids. 

Then, boom. Suddenly, after just a few weeks, COVID-19 flushed away this hopeful new rhythm. Clouds of uncertainty and limitation loom over each day that feels endless, shut-in, unproductive and restless. Ugh. There’s no other way to say it: I’m pissed. 

I drip with privilege writing this—I’m not (yet) affected economically or health-wise from this pandemic, plus, who gets a 4-month leave of absence from their job, anyway?  But, I have to process, too. This is my life and reality. As a friend reminded me this week, we must each pass through our own stages of individual grief as we endure this collective global loss. And this pandemic certainly doesn’t discriminate between the haves and the have-nots, does it? Whether you’re losing dollars in your 401k or hours of sleep about how you’ll pay this month’s bills, we are all dealing with our own burdens from this surprising new season.

I’m passing through the stages of grief pretty consistent with how psychologist Elizabeth Kübler-Ross defined them. The first week, I couldn’t admit this was real. I was in shock and denial. The second week felt like a frustrated, angry haze. I remember almost nothing. This, the third week, I’m probably bargaining—yep, here I am, trying to tell my story and make sense of it all. I’m desperate to believe deeper learning and growth is in this mess somewhere.  

Help my unbelief. I’m still mad. This is not the way any of us wanted to start 2020. As I wrote at the beginning of the year, to really see the world, you have to learn to stay home.  If only I’d known what that would mean for this new decade that seemingly brimmed with hope. 

The irony of this coming at Lent isn’t lost on many of us this year. Though we didn’t plan on giving up our entire lives in this season of restraint, what better time to have begun this kind of inner dialogue—to slow down to face ourselves and our questions?  While answers are sparse, I’ve been given some tough ones to address. Let me share a few about travel, work, and relationships. 

Like many of you, we had travel on the books this year—multiple getaways to see loved ones that are now cancelled. We’d just scored a free Companion Pass—just in time for all travel plans to be nixed. Like I unpack in my Pilgrimage for Pennies toolkit, quality experiences win out of over quantity every time. Perhaps it’s time for me to reconsider my own advice—to prune back adventures even further, staying rooted and reflective in this season. What does “pilgrimage at home” look like? (I don’t know yet, but we’re starting with a couple urban chickens).  

I’ve also been thinking about global travel and my interdependence with the created world. Even as the earth begins to repair during this massive pause on human movement, it begs the question: what is my responsibility to limit movement in the future? For example, I justify travel with airmiles multiple times a year by telling myself that those seats are leftover airline inventory that would have been empty anyway and don’t increase consumption quite the same way. Fair or not, all of this begs a deeper reflection of my habits and their impact on the environment. As our normal travel patterns grind to a halt, what should they look like when the skies and roads open back up to us?

For many, our work has been completely disrupted. Here we are—forced into an economic pause on a massive scale.  Whether this means losing your job completely or working by video from your laundry room (kids melting down outside the door), we’re all facing uncertainty around our work. In this realm for me, I have a rental house that I’ve struggled to fill. We’ve hustled hard for a solid year to get it in top shape—and of course, the downturn hits now while potential customers have low confidence and buying power. As I search myself on this, the word ruthless keeps surfacing. Perhaps, this ruthlessness with which I expect to maximize efficiency has become a sort of god. “Better one handful with tranquility than two handfuls with toil and chasing after the wind” Ecclesiastes whispers.  What does a flourishing work life look like—one where I work hard and well, but then rest fully too, trusting God will decide how successful or efficient my endeavors become?  This key to contentment is woven throughout Holy Scripture, yet I constantly take it back into my own hands by attempting to maximize efficiency and control outcomes.

Finally, what about our communities? As we’re all forced into isolation and social distance, our relationships have suddenly been changed. Some of us will suffer great loss as loved ones fall prey to death during this pandemic. Others of us will grieve with those who do. Many of us will suffer from too much emotional distance and others from too much proximity. My wife and I have been discussing how to give each other increased space to personally lament during this time—now harder than ever to do well when we’re in each other’s physical space much more closely. (Hat tip: Gena Thomas).  In most all of our other relationships, social distance is particularly tough during spring and at Holy Week.  No picnics in the park with neighbors as the trees bloom. No Seder dinner with wine, lamb, and reclining. No kids waving palm branches. No extended family feasts.

Will I be patient to learn from these new relational dynamics—the endless hours with my children, the requirement to intentionally reach out to loved ones and ugh…talk at them through glowing rectangles, the opportunity to creatively love neighbors in need even at a social distance?  It’s hard when you can’t name the purpose or the end of this pandemic. If I’m honest, even my faith can’t make meaning of it. It’s humbling to admit, but perhaps it’s not supposed to.  Instead of trying to assign purpose, it may be time to simply lament—a season to collectively mourn. This is particularly hard for those of us from the USA to accept—we’ve been brought up on triumphal, future-oriented, upwardly mobile stories of what’s next.  It’s tough to embrace an extended season of lament, but if we will, I’m convinced we’ll discover an opportunity to grow something new. A dear friend and mentor invited me this week into Pope Francis’ prayer: Let us not waste these difficult days.  If we lean in and listen throughout them, perhaps this thief who has cheated us may become our greatest teacher. 

P.S.  During this downtime, check out my video toolkit: Homegrow a Housing Business for the Greater Good.  As financial pressures on low-income families increase during this pandemic, you can use these clear, adaptable steps to empower people who are marginalized to attain stable housing and create a sustainable side hustle in the process.