An In-Between Day

Mixed thoughts this morning, on this in-between day, this weekend nestled between Thanksgiving and “the Christmas season,” where it’s finally permissible (in my understanding of life) to decorate for the holidays. It’s two days after Thanksgiving, one day after the shopping frenzy of black Friday and the cartoon marathon memory of my childhood, “the day after Turkey Day on NBC.” On this between day, it’s also one day before Advent begins.  

 

And yet COVID lurks among us. We’re told it’s to blame for the supply chain issues. “Better buy it when you see it,” the pundits warn, as it won’t be there when you make up your mind. I was in a store yesterday where the merchandise was piled high, cascading to the floor in many spots. Supply chain problems?  Could have fooled me.

 

The nasty virus is to blame for much more than that early run on toilet paper or the inability to find this year’s version of the coveted Cabbage Patch doll or Tickle Me Elmo. It’s changed us a humans, dividing us in ways our parents couldn’t have imagined. I intended to describe those differences, but who am I kidding? We’ve become so entrenched in our positions about being masked and vaxxed that there seem to be no words left to say.

 

And the empty chairs at the Thanksgiving table? 777K, the googled report shows, just here in the United States. Yes, the “K” stand for one thousand. Does the use of the abbreviation lighten the burden of grief over the loss of 777,000 people, of 5,190,000 people around the world? We may act like it’s winding down, but one radio report indicated that this week, somewhere in Ohio, one in six current hospitalizations is for COVID-19 ( didn’t catch the details).

 

This morning, as I sat peeling vegetables for the fragrant pot of soup simmering on the stove, I wondered: what do we do? My thoughts wandered to the biblical women on the day after the first Good Friday. In their grief, we are told, still they “prepared the spices.” They did what needed to be done to prepare the body of Jesus for a burial in accordance with their faith. 

 

Somehow, in the valley of the shadow of death, more than five million bodies lining that valley, we must find time to both grieve and to “prepare the spices.” I’m searching for ways to live in the midst of the uncertainty that surrounds us, to find meaning. What I’m realizing in these anxious days is that sometimes it is enough to stir the pot of soup, decorate the Christmas tree, and light a candle of Advent. For, as Fleming Rutledge reminds us, “Even our smallest lights will be signs in this world, lights to show the way . . .” Might it be so.