Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve started looking back on 2020. There were things that were disappointing, frustrating, and angering, but Ian and I have found ourselves in a place to be grateful; we both still have our jobs, and we didn’t lose any close family members to Covid. (As a side note, my great-aunt Margaret did pass away from Covid on December 24th, and we lost another friend this last week who died of a different cause. We have experienced sadness this year ourselves, but not in an earth-shattering way, and our hearts go out to those who experienced deep tragedy. We know first-hand what it is to lose one’s livelihood and to lose a family member to an early death, but those happened to us in other years.)
The difficulties and challenges we faced this year brought us closer to God and each other. I have often jokingly described this as a character-building year, which is an interesting phenomenon, because most of the experiences which have built up my faith and character I would never have chosen to go through, even with the promise of coming out a better, stronger person on the other side. And yet God uses those things to show me both His goodness and the kindness and the love of my fellow human beings. So I think that’s what it means to thank God IN all things, even when I can’t thank Him FOR all things.
In February of this year, Ian and I had attempted to give up some of our favorite things for Lent, but then after a couple weeks, both quit our fasts because they didn’t seem meaningful like they had the year before. We talked to each other about this strange failure of fasting to focus our attention on God, and then suddenly, in the middle of March, the world shut down and we were forced to give up most of the things that were filling our days.
Ian traveled for work in 2019, I work full-time, and the girls are in school. We do a lot with our church. We have a lot of people in our lives whom we love very much and see often. These things are great, but by the end of 2019 I was burnt out from being busy. I missed my family deeply; I felt like I never had enough time with my daughters. Every commitment on the calendar felt like a burden, and yet it didn’t feel like there was anything we could cut out.
Then suddenly, Ian and I were both working from home and our girls were doing online school at home, and all calendar commitments disappeared. I was able to reconnect with my family in ways that were challenging and rewarding. I got to know my daughters’ scholastic abilities even better and taught them how to do certain chores, and enjoyed having amounts of time with them that I hadn’t had since they were very little. Ian and I grew closer by actually disagreeing about stuff and having to work through it together, no longer able to avoid spousal conflicts that were usually “resolved” by the fact that we were both out of the house so much.
I’ve tried to spend this year focusing on the silver linings. In 2019 I desired to have a better prayer life, and in 2020 I found myself with time to read the Bible more deeply and slowly, to read Prayer by Tim Keller, which had been on my reading list for a while, and to put into practice some of his tips on developing a prayer life. The restrictions of this year cut out many distractions, which helped me invest more effort into my relationship with God. I can honestly say that God has been with me all of 2020; I have felt His peace on me in times of gratitude, fear, uncertainty, anger, unrest, and amazement at both the best and worst of humanity.
Back in March and April, I remember watching (online) in wonder as parts of the planet started to heal, the water and air cleaning themselves up through natural mechanisms when travel was shut down; as families suddenly had more time together, and as people were kinder to each other online and expressed appreciation for doctors, nurses, teachers, and grocery-store employees.
Even when things got extremely ugly, when George Floyd was killed, I watched as people had both the time and a lack of distractions to push for greater change in societal racism, and people who had denied its continued existence in the United States recognized it as more extensive and insidious than they had thought. There is a new push for racial unity and reconciliation within the church which I have not seen in the past.
All the things that had taken up so much time were gone, and we appreciated more the few things that remained. We talked to family members on the phone and live-streamed church (I honestly remember a thrill of joy at seeing my pastor’s face and the building behind him—FINALLY!—after what was actually only the first week of quarantine). We had time to read books and do puzzles. Getting a haircut or ordering take-out suddenly became more meaningful when local community members’ livelihoods depended on it. I gained a new appreciation for things I had taken for granted before: the joy of a face-to-face conversation with a friend, better on FaceTime or Zoom than on the phone and better in person than on Zoom. Now I love seeing entire faces when possible, uncovered by masks. I have a new appreciation for a loud classroom full of talking students, because these days my students are few, are separated by six feet of empty space, are mostly silent.
I am waiting for the world to go back to normal because of these things that I miss. I can’t wait to have all the people I love over to my house for a barbecue once this is all past us, though I wonder how long it will take before most people feel comfortable with large gatherings again. I have friends who can’t wait to get back to concerts, and others who can’t wait to get back to sporting events, and others who can’t wait to travel whenever and wherever. Honestly, what I am looking forward to the most is being able to play interactive, no-distance, community-building games with my students. Yet I recognize that even though these things are good, they are luxuries. Some people have much greater needs for a more normal society; the drop in reporting for child abuse troubles me, as does the lack of community and community resources for addicts. Privately, I mourn for all the people whose 2020 has been much worse than mine.
Lent, in the past, has helped focus my attention on God and on my dependence upon Him, and this year I am seeing some of the similar side-effects to what happens when I fast during Lent. I have a new appreciation for things I take for granted, simply because I can’t have them. I pray more and turn to God when I realize my lack of control over the world around me. Sometimes, in moments of desperately missing whatever it is I am fasting from, I get angry, or simply mope. This year, I have had moments of private fits of anger over things I want to do and cannot do. But, as during Lent, the unimportant and little things gradually become less important and I realize the importance of the two great commands: loving God and loving my neighbor. Nothing else lasts. Other things in this life that are important, such as healthcare, education, social justice, economic prosperity, etc., exist, or should exist, to do one or the other: love God and love our neighbor. And in a year when so many of my neighbors, those in the worldwide human community, are hurting, I am ready for it to be over. At the same time, I feel grateful for its lessons, for this chance to rest and let the important things come back into focus so that in the future, I can hopefully do a better job of loving God and loving my neighbor.
Well said.
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