How Are We Doing?

COVID-19.  How are we doing? How are we – you and me –  coping, changing? I’ll start. I’ve had epic fails in my Suzie Homemaker apron. Soggy broccoli-cheddar quiche and my mother’s beloved recipe for chocolate cookies with white frosting – in the trash. I’ve been accused of not cooking with love like my mother did, but these were the worst.

I’ve been tearing up more, and not just over my cooking. High school stadiums turned their lights on across the state at 8:20 p.m. (20:20 in military time) on the 20^thto honor the graduation class of 2020. A handful of senior musicians, at the appropriate social distance, bravely played the Ashland fight song one more time. “Hail, Ashland High School.” Sob.

I’m also seeing the good, the bad and the ugly in myself in a brighter light these days. The Enneagram, an ancient model, describes nine major personality types by number, simplistically understood as a person’s “need to _______.” Thus, #1 needs to be perfect (the perfectionist), #2 needs to be needed (the helper), #3 needs to succeed (the achiever), #4 needs to be special (the individualist), #5 needs to perceive (the observer), #6 needs to protect self (the loyalist), #7 needs to avoid pain (the optimist), #8 needs to be against (the challenger), and #9 needs to avoid (the peacemaker). This fascinating framework, long a self-revealing companion on my journey, is speaking to me again in Corona days. 

Why tell you this? This pandemic is sending us to our Enneagram corners, so to speak. My #2 helper friends are being super-helpful, donating blood, sewing masks, and delivering food to shut-ins. Special #4s are telling the world about the challenges of their very unique self-quarantine on Facebook Live, while #8s are contradicting the scientists, yelling at the television, and pushing back against mask-wearing at the grocery store. Me? I’m a #5, and my need to perceive, my need to know is driving me to the internet even before I get out of bed. What’s new about the virus overnight? What did Dr. Acton say today? What about Dr. Fauci? Our governor? If only I can get more information . . . But then what?  

The Enneagram framework teaches that our greatest gift is also our greatest sin. When we seek information, help others, or protest against injustice, our strengths contribute in positive way. But when our gift becomes all-consuming, time for a re-boot. 

How are you doing? Struggling? Let me use my “5” gift to share a simple four-fingered model to get us through these days. Psychiatrist Sue Varma suggests “the four Ms,” not to be confused with four handfuls of M&M’s (that helps too). 

She begins with practicing Mindfulness, being fully present to your mind and to the rhythm of the activity or time you are in. The opposite of “earth calling Mom.”

The second is Mastery – getting better at something, preferably not kitchen-related for me. Many are enjoying puzzles in these days, as a completed puzzle gives us a sense of accomplishment. The more pieces, the better! The charming Henry Kyle is walking, and sweet Emma Belle now crawls. Ashland musician extraordinaire Kelly Knowlton took up the accordion – and posted to Facebook. Other friends are mask-making, designing websites, researching genealogy, wrestling with Common Core math, and reupholstering chairs. Wow! BTW, want to learn more about the Enneagram? Ashland pastor Nate Bebout’s book, “More than a Number,” expands on my barebones introduction. 

Movement is #3. Get up from that worry chair. Walk around the block. Plant a garden. Do chalk art on the sidewalk. When the sun shines (and it will one of these days), get outside. Move.

The final M? Meaningful engagement, minus the hugs and kisses for now (sad-face emoji). Go back to the old wells of letter-writing and phone calls, or chatting over the backyard fence. Or, like our family and Bible study group did this week, check out the new-fangled technology and have a Zoom call, Hollywood Square-style engagement. 

Let  me close with a benediction. Wash your hands, beloved. Be mindful. Try something new. Create. Move. Stay connected. Ask for what you need. Send cookies! Be gentle with yourself and others, dear ones. #wewillgetthroughthistogether.

I'm Running Out of Books

In his 1978 book, “The Road Less Traveled,” M. Scott Peck begins: “Life is difficult.” Depending on whether we are a ‘glass half full’ or ‘glass half empty’ kind of person, we may or may not have agreed with Peck’s perspective prior to Spring 2020. But under the shadow of the COVID-19 pandemic, we echo Peck’s sentiment: indeed, life is difficult these days.

As is true for the Olympic diver, the degree of difficulty for our plunge into the waves of the pandemic varies tremendously. Some of us are scoring “10s” at home-schooling, while others are awkwardly belly-flopping. Some of us are “furloughed” and welcoming the unemployment check, while others are part of the gig economy and scraping to pay the rent.  Some are trying to work from home with fluctuating success, while others are stocking shelves or staffing the drive-through at the local bank or McDonalds. Even in healthcare, the playing field is terribly uneven, with some immersed in the ER or ICU, while others fight to keep the lights on in a pediatric practice or are laid off from the hospital or dentist office.

One way or another, life is difficult for all of us just now. We can be tempted to compare the various degrees of difficulty that we’re facing, especially when a family is waiting to hear if a father is going to live through the night and we’re whining about not being able to find flour and yeast –or toilet paper. But anxiety and fear are real, and pretending these past few weeks haven’t been hard on us is a classic form of denial, just sayin’.

  

What’s been the hardest part for you? Beyond the fear, beyond the pain, beyond the loss? As I’ve heard from so many, it’s missing the grandkids. Namely, the lovely Madelyn Simone, the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday, the charming Henry Kyle, and the sweet Emma Belle. Yes, I’m extremely grateful for FaceTime, and I’ve caught glimpses of the kids while dropping off dinner or Easter treats on the porch. But I miss the hugs and the cuddles, the slumber parties and jaunts to Sam’s Club for free samples. Will the babies even remember their Nana when this is over – whatever “over” will look like?  

Here’s my other issue. I’m running out of books. The libraries have been closed for over a month. Getting groceries at Sam’s Club without my favorite helpers, I checked out the paperbacks, but nothing spoke to me. I have a couple of gift cards, but my stingy self cringes at the thought of spending $10+ on a mindless murder mystery to keep me company before I go to sleep. No, I’d rather spend that money on a book I want to keep rather than consign to the library book sale within days.

There are, however, two books I’d gladly pay full price for, but they aren’t out yet. Louise Penney has a new one, “All the Devils Are Here,” but the next chapter in Armand Gamache’s fascinating life won’t be published until September 1. I’m also waiting for columnist Connie Schultz’s first novel, “The Daughters of Erietown,” this one with a June 9^threlease date. Every time I see the opportunity to win an advanced copy, I quickly raise my hand and yell, “pick me, pick me,” but so far, no luck. How can I wait the thousand days between now and June?

So what are you missing? The crack of the bat at the corner of East 9^thand Carnegie? A playground visit with the kids? Church? Coffee with an old friend – or new? Your daughter’s senior prom? Slobbery baby kisses?

Life is difficult, and we’re facing that truth today under the curse of social distancing. Loss is cumulative, and the weight of loss, great and small, wears us down. We can – and will – seek alternatives, watching Major League (go Tribe!), worshipping on-line, blowing kisses through the window, and even buying a Kindle. But give yourself permission to acknowledge and grieve the losses. Anne Lamott understands, “The grief and tears didn’t wash me away. They gave me my life back! They cleansed me, baptized me, hydrated the earth at my feet.” Grace to you.

Easter Memories in the Year of the Corona

In last week’s column, I quoted Dr. Tony Campolo’s famous Good Friday presentation, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s a-coming.” As Campolo understands, for the faithful, the ritual sorrow of Holy Week ends in the Sunday dawn of resurrection. Memories of past sunrise services will have to suffice this year, although a few may gather in the quiet cemetery or at the ocean’s shore, six feet apart but still proclaiming: “Christ the Lord is Risen Today.” Alleluia. Or, as the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir sings so distinctively: “No matter what comes my way, I’ll lift my voice and say Hallelujah anyhow.” Take that, Corona-Virus.

Writing in “At the Corner of Mundane and Grace,” Chris Fabray explains the concept of living backwards. He suggests we live from the perspective of life in the rocking chair at age seventy-five, determining the best thing to do right now, “that will make me happiest when I’m old and gray and have nothing left but my gums and my memories.”

Here are two ‘rocking chair’ memories from Easter past. First, a community memory of an Easter egg hunt at Brookside, quoted from the Ashland Times-Gazette mid-1930s. “The feature of the morning was the bunny contest. After trying in vain to have the children form in a large circle, the judges had them form a straight line at the east side of the park. As soon as the line was formed, the live rabbit was turned loose several hundred feet from the children. At the starting signal, the rabbit was supposed to run, but he was too frightened. The children did not hesitate. They immediately started to chase the rabbit. The bunny was caught by Marshall Akerman.” I wonder if anyone called the SPCA?

Fast forward to the early 60s, as a young couple watched their two children search excitedly for their Easter baskets, filled with colored eggs for upper-upper contests and Platter’s chocolates molded into rabbits and chicks. A gorgeous Sunday, they loaded the kids into the Buick and drove to the Buffalo zoo, along with thousands of other families suffering from spring fever. The daughter refused to leave the prized basket at home, and by the time the family returned to the car, the rabbits and chicks were a brown puddle.  

Ah, the gift of Easter memory. The clove-laden ham. Aunt Florence’s sky-high chiffon cake generously garnished with coconut. Frilly dresses and little boy suits with bow ties and suspenders. Real pastel Easter bonnets with ribbons and lace, not the navy blue Salvation Army bonnet I later wore. Singing “Up from the Grave He Arose” with snowflakes falling on our shoulders. Worshipping with the saints, shoulder to shoulder. Gathering around the heavily laden table for Easter dinner with the extended family.

And now, 2020. The rabbits, both flesh and chocolate, are safe for this year. The pews will be empty, as we huddle around computer screens in our bathrobes, checking in with our home congregations while guiltily surfing the church-web to check out our Methodist, Presbyterian, and AME friends in these Corona-laden days. We’ll eat ham, but there’ll be no Malczewski Butter Lambs here, a tradition on so many Buffalo tables, and too many chairs will be empty at our table – and yours. But if we’ve planned ahead (how’s that going?), we’ve got chocolate from Grandpa’s or Ashley’s Candy and Nut Shoppe, if it hasn’t disappeared. Where is that bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs?

Martin Amis asks: “Has it ever happened to you . . . ? The color of the day suddenly changes to shadow. And you know you’re going to remember that moment for the rest of your life.” Will new memories form as Pope Francis proclaims the good news of the resurrection to a deserted St. Peter’s Square, or as we teach our grandchildren to play upper-upper over FaceTime? Listening to tenor Andrea Bocelli singing from Milan’s Duomo cathedral, or pumping up the volume on Second Chapter of Acts’ “Easter Song”? Backyard egg hunts, socially-distanced Easter parades in the neighborhood, a walk in the garden, a raucous dinner table conversation by Zoom: all stand ready to become the precious memories of Easter 2020. Activate those neurons. Remember. Alleluia! 

For These Difficult Days - April 1

Beloved,

Remember when our biggest worries for April 1 involved falling for an April Fool’s Day prank or joke? 

Not so April 1, 2020. As Alexander complained, “it was a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day,” quoted from Judith Viorst’s book of a similar name. 

Tough decisions. Tougher conversations. Heavy lifting. Kids tired of our feeble attempts at home schooling. Guilt and shame and exhaustion and fear and a sense of having no control over what is about to happen. It’s all there, and the statistical models tell us it’s going to get worse before it gets better. Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad.

And yet. A baby takes his first steps. The daffodils are blooming across the front of the corps building (and I nearly missed seeing them). Elliot Stabler is coming back to a Law and Order spin-off. The Cavs are currently winning game 5 of the 2016 basketball season (on television as I write – with game 7 to follow). A member of the congregation calls to check on the pastor. Grace.

And we remember this. In the terrible and the horrible, in the joyous and the tender, God is with us. 

Information

Ohio friends. Myohiovote.com has the information you need to get an absentee ballot. Do it today so you can vote in the April 28^th primary.

Resource

For the kids. Captain Underpants drawing lessons. (I know . . . )

https://www.washingtonian.com/2020/03/30/captain-underpants-dav-pilkey-drawing-classes-library-of-congress/?fbclid=IwAR0wpoksxJ0PDyjW2xISqrW0VVX88c4KXe5r68Sil5_hbQZJ58Xp5onVVMk

A Song: What a Wonderful World (so amazed at how they do these)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Hc_1c_Ask0&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR32JYUw_ioCHCLKznB8mVhN6L8_OMkxrL6mu0slLIlys9w0x0wvgzQSahE

A Prayer

My friend Dr. Paul Chilcote offers the following prayer, his adaptation of the United Methodist Morning Prayer of Thanksgiving:

A Prayer

New every morning is your love, great God of light, and all day long you are working for good in the world. Stir up in us desire to serve you, to live peacefully with our neighbors – by complying with social distancing and by worshipping safely in the security of our own homes – and to devote each day to your Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ the Lord. Amen.

 

His full article, “Worship in the Great Adaptation” is available at

https://www.ministrymatters.com/all/entry/10203/worship-in-the-great-adaptation?fbclid=IwAR2Ox0X0SFtL2oQOCEU-jX0DnRR9XlUga0OwJiSIaL6MEw7thhzfesnzCZk

For These Difficult Days - March 31

From March 31

Listening to the Ohio governor’s briefing today, one of the speakers reminded the listeners of the acronym HALT, often used in the world of addictions treatment and recovery. Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. It’s a quick check-up for us in these days, as each of these leave us vulnerable. Hungry – take a few minutes and get something to eat – and sit down if possible when you do it. Angry? Start by giving yourself a time out if possible. Reflect on what is fueling that anger, and determine if there might be a constructive request you can make of someone (or the Lord) to reduce that anger.

Lonely? Check in with someone you love. Social distancing is tough, but we can reach out to someone else – they may be just as lonely as we are. Tired? We’ve got to find a rhythm in these days, and that rhythm must include rest. We’re in this for the long haul, and we’ve got to take care of ourselves.

John O’Donohue’s words speak to me today:

This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.

Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.

If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.🌼
- John O'Donohue

Resources

The Ohio Covid-19 website has lots of helpful information. Coronavirus.oh.gov

I’d especially recommend a list of resources for mental health concerns. Those who are distributing food during these days may want to add a flier with the information below to help our struggling clients find help. Here’s the wording the website suggests:

If you or a loved one are experiencing anxiety related to the coronavirus pandemic, help is available. Call the Disaster Distress Helpline at 1-800-985-5990 (1-800-846-8517 TTY); connect with a trained counselor through the Ohio Crisis Text Line by texting the keyword “4HOPE” to 741 741; or call the Ohio Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services help line at 1-877-275-6364 to find resources in your community. 

For the Kids

Some Shel Silverstein fun

http://www.shelsilverstein.com/learning/?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=paidsocial&utm_term=sponsoredpost&utm_campaign=shelsilversteinpoetrytree&fbclid=IwAR2QtwN6B9Qjym10puikliVOe5TzOtDHPdJXjGxgXnSe5uYPYj-3jUasYaQ

A Prayer

A blessing from Sarah Bessey

Bless the ones baking bread and leaving it on doorsteps for the parents they can’t risk seeing. Bless the ones who serve without fanfare or book deals or media attention. Bless the ones who love vulnerable children, day after day after day. Bless the ones who are lonely and alone, who are isolated and vulnerable, who are struggling to breathe.

Bless the ones who lavish grace and bandage wounds and figure out how to make ventilators in factories. Bless the ones who intubate and the ones who are crying in the stairwell, overwhelmed by caring. Bless them for they give dignity to the rest of us. Bless them because they see us and they love us anyway.

Bless them for standing in our thin places between too-much and not-enough, the places where our hearts are breaking and our fears are manifesting and we are so scared and so alone. Bless them for being the ones that show up in the fault lines to hold our hands and pray and weep with those who weep.

Finally April

It’s finally April, 2020. Some are home every day, all day long – with kids. Others are stocking supermarket shelves, mopping hospital floors, nursing the dying, or trouble-shooting internet issues. Thank you. I’m a hybrid myself, working part-time at The Salvation Army, filing reports, delivering meals to the elderly, writing grant proposals, and assembling week-ender bags of food to distribute to hungry kids. 

I glanced out the lobby window at work and caught a glimpse of a lonely daffodil. Looking further, I noticed a twenty-foot border of flowers, their lemon and white colors a stark contrast against the dull brown earth and my gray-tinged emotions.

Daffodils are also called Lenten Lilies, appearing around Ash Wednesday and blooming through Easter, marking the forty days before Jesus’ crucifixion, death and resurrection. Lent 2020 has been devoid of communal gatherings for Lenten luncheons and the popular Friday night fish fries, and Holy Week (the week before Easter) will be missing the traditional reenactments of the Last Supper, Good Friday services, even the darkness of the Tenebrae. 

Acknowledging my readers of various faith traditions or no expression of faith, I understand that not all find solace or connection within a Christian framework. Yet for all of us, Walter Wangarin’s words to Mary Magdalene following the death of Jesus are powerful. “Even in your despair, observe the rituals.” 

Here are some faith-inspired rituals that I’m practicing, or choose others that fit for you. As a teen-ager, I painstakingly practiced “The Palms,” Jean-Baptiste Faure’s grand anthem of praise. Tomorrow, Palm Sunday, I may give it a go at the piano, but probably will listen on-line instead. Or maybe I’ll put some semblance of a palm branch on the door or slip the word “hosanna” into conversation. 

One of the funniest memes flooding social media is a photo of the new Easter dresses for 2020, taken in Wal-Mart’s nightgown department. We may be isolated, but we don’t have to spend every day in our Disney nightshirt (guilty). On Monday, choose the rituals of self-care. Shower. Get dressed. Do your make-up. Style your raggedy hair (me too). And wash your hands!

For Tuesday, I will chose to serve. A phone call of encouragement. A word of thanks to the fast-food worker. Groceries left on a neighbor’s porch. And whatever is needed at The Salvation Army. 

As a ritual for Wednesday, might we fast and pray? Fast from food, from chocolate, from Facebook or Twitter, from criticism, from hate? Pray for ourselves, our family, our community, the world?

On Thursday of Holy Week, the church observes the Last Supper (communion), where Jesus and his disciples gathered at the Passover meal (see Luke 22). Dr. Paul Chilcote, formerly of Ashland Theological Seminary, tells a story from a Latin American prison. Having no provisions for the celebration of Holy Communion, the pastorelevated his empty hands and said: “The bread [and wine] which we do not have today is a reminder of those who are hungry, for those who are oppressed, and for those who yearn for the provision that only God can give.” On Thursday, remember those who are hungry. Who are grieving. Who are frightened.

On Good Friday, I’ll welcome the music of the day. “The Old Rugged Cross.” Glad’s acapella version of “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.” “O Sacred Head Now Wounded,” sung since the Middle Ages. Stuart and Townsend’s “How Deep the Father’s Love” and “In Christ Alone.” Keith and Krysten Getty singing “The Power of the Cross.”  

Saturday? Time for the ritual of nostalgia, coloring some eggs and listening to Gene Autry’s “Here Comes Peter Cottontail” and Judy Garland’s “In Your Easter Bonnet.” I may eat another handful of Cadbury Mini-Eggs too. 

Wangarin had more to say to Mary: “Pray your prayers. However hollow and unsatisfying they may feel, God can fill them . . . He can make of your mouthings a prayer – and of your groanings a hymn. Observe the ritual. Prepare your spices.” For the story is not over. Tony Campolo speaks prophetically: “Friday’s here, but Sunday’s coming.” Google it and listen in. And for now, “Observe the ritual. Prepare the spices.” Wash your hands. Be kind. We will get through this.