The wave still roars toward us
Jordinn Nelson Long reminds us that, though social distancing feels like an unprecedented disruption, it is nothing compared to what is still coming.
[We] are, most of us at the moment, in the time just before the tidal wave hits the shore. These are the seconds where all the water has instead rushed outward, away from the land, leaving confusingly empty space and all of us wondering what happened.
And after that, you know what comes? A tidal wave. Inundation. Loss of life. Profound grief.
We have to get through that. And we know this, or are beginning to. . . .
This “social distancing” is not the thing. It’s a symptom, not the sickness. The other, bigger thing is still roaring toward us. (Facebook, March 19)
We’re all in this together
Adam Dyer writes that “we are just learning how to live in a world with coronavirus.”
In this emergent time, what we must be most wary of is how our reaction to illness of any kind tends to be very similar and some of our worst impulses become activated. We must not make mistakes that are even vaguely similar to those we made/ make with HIV that are driven by fear and misinformation class snobbery, economic opportunism and shame.
Act as if you might be carrying the virus. We all must take responsibility, even if our leadership does not. (spirituwellness, March 18)
Joanna Fontaine Crawford asked her FB friends and followers, “What are you doing that is helping you to feel a little less scattered?” (Facebook, March 19)
Tina Porter describes herself as an expert in the kind of despair that binds us to the couch—something many will likely experience as this pandemic stretches on.
Remind yourself that whatever is in front of you is not forever. Of course, chronic illness (mental or otherwise) is forever, but the moment you are in is not. This is true of the tortured moments as well as the joy-filled ones, as well as those that seem endlessly full of nothing.
As people become less physically interactive, depression is likely, and if you don’t “normally*” experience depression, it may come on gradually and you will suddenly find yourself not doing things like, I don’t know, brushing your teeth. A day of this is not depression. Two days, though, starts a trend you don’t want to extend. (Tina L. B. Porter, March 18)
Doug Muder tracks down the answers to some “interesting but not necessarily important questions” about the pandemic. Be sure to read through to the end, where he posts an enhanced photo of the virus. (The Weekly Sift, March 16)
Justin Almeida serves as a hospital chaplain in Seattle, one of the hotbeds of COVID-19 in this country.
Yes, we are afraid. And it is possible to hope even while experiencing fear. So much in life can and will break our bodies. Every time I get behind the wheel of a car I invite destruction. I minister to too many accident casualties to truly feel “safe” on the road. And yet I choose to live life, perhaps more mindful of the need to be, as I tell my son, “kind, loving and listening.” I buckle my seatbelt. I put my phone down. I pay attention. I try not to speed. I commit to kindness on the road. Because we’re all in this together. (Necessary but not sufficient, March 13)
Kiya Heartwood and Meg Barnhouse posted an impromptu living room concert of Meg’s beloved song, “All Will Be Well,” (YouTube, March 17)