Ways I’ve Goofed Up My Response to Covid 19

I’ve learned so much about myself in the past week or two. Some of that isn’t pretty, but I’m going to describe those mistakes to you, just so you don’t feel alone if you’re struggling, too. 

1. The Day I Was Way Too Angry 

I can’t even remember which day this was, now. (They’re all starting to blur together.) But the night before it happened, I’d dreamed about grabbing two people by the hair—one national politician and one leader of a religious university—and knocking their foreheads together as hard as I could. Smoosh.

I’m not a violent person in real life. I can’t ever remember having a dream like this. (Last night I dreamt I was in a pub in Britain, straining to focus while Anthony Powell tried to explain a bunch of irritating details about elite British culture to me. Then (poof), I was suddenly with Wendell Berry on a farm, helping him plant a garden and talking to him about canning jars. Subconscious Me loves my country, and no—that’s not American exceptionalism. This is just my home, dang it.

But back to my angry day—

On the morning after the head-smoosh dream, I woke up with my heart pounding, full of a rare fury. I felt hate for politicians and news stations who had called this virus a hoax. I was mad at cocky supporters and followers of those politicians and news stations.  I was furious about stubborn religious leaders who continue to put their congregants—and exponential members of their local community—in danger. 

I was also angry at weird things in my house. One of my kids wanted to go for a bike ride, and I was miffed at having to think about local people losing jobs and being desperate—considering what that might mean about baseline safety for a young person on a bike. 

Then the frustration got weirder. I was mad at the frequency of an LED lightbulb. I was mad that two Dove chocolates in a row gave me the same invasive advice. (“You DON’T KNOW ME, CHOCOLATE! YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE! JUST SHUT UP AND BE CHOCOLATE, OKAY?”) I was mad at the dumb ridge on my right thumbnail. I was mad at everything, and a lot of it just didn’t make sense.
 
Then, the anger turned inward. I was angry at myself for not preventing this national disaster. Why? Because I’m firstborn and carry the weight of the world all the time, no matter what. Everything I had thought would happen a month ago was now happening in real life in slow motion. I was furious with myself that I hadn’t thought of the right words to move people to the right action—that’s what writers DO, after all. They save the world. And I hadn’t.

I was mad at myself for intentionally sabotaging my own writing platform a thousand times because I didn’t want lots of people to know me, and now I actually needed the cultural leverage and didn’t have it. I was mad at myself for not being smart enough, strong enough, adept enough, selfless enough to shield a nation I love from harm.

I think underneath all that rage, I was scared for people I love. I was afraid that horrible leadership was going to lead to their death—and it may. I’m still angry about that. Yet this first wave of deep fear hit me like a massive tsunami, and I had so much trouble managing it well.  In it, I utterly failed in any sort of faith response for about 24 hours.

2. The Day I Was Frozen

So, this has actually been two different days. It’s so weird when it happens because I’m normally pretty high energy. However, during this crisis, that power comes in spurts. I’ll work relentlessly for an entire day (researching backyard chickens, and if vitamin D3 leads to kidney stones, and if local charities need help, and oh—the basement storage needs organizing. I do this for 12 straight hours, then the next day, I crash into a strange sort of paralysis where I stare out the window eating cheddar and sour cream chips and hating myself for doing it.

The chorus to Andrew Peterson’s song “Be Kind to Yourself,” has been playing in my head for several hours now. I feel like if anyone else were telling me about this failure, I’d say, “Oh, honey. These are scary times. It’s hard to be a mom right now. It’s hard to be a sensitive person right now. Give yourself some time to process it all.” But the tape playing more often when I hit these lulls is, “You slug. Get off your butt and save the world.” (See point 1. Haha.)

I felt a little better after reading Dr. Aisha Ahmad’s Twitter thread about playing the long game during a crisis. She said that she’s been through a lot of disasters and that those who attempt to “work as normal right now are going to burn out fast.” She gives some practical steps for preparation (many of which I was encouraged to find I’d already done) and simplification, but my favorite part was her admission that “the first few days in a disaster zone are always a write-off.” She says your body and mind need time to adjust to the new normal—and that is what I’ve been feeling.

I’ve seen several posts about not whining about staying home. And, as an introvert, I don’t mind that part so much. It’s not the isolation that’s getting me. I’m not bored. It’s the heightened, constant sense of responsibility—it’s shifting through the constant cyber feed of danger and not wanting to goof this up—it’s where my mind goes through all of this that is eating at me. That’s what freezes me. My brother showed me a video of a fainting goat. Yeah, it’s kind of like that. Feet in the air. Spaz. I can’t.

So I’m starting to see more value in the way Jesus gave himself time to be alone. Sure, he was praying. But the fact that he felt freedom (in a very difficult ministry) to let all of his spiritual and emotional processes work out is encouraging.

3. The Day I Decided to Fix It All

Don’t laugh. There was a day I decided to fix it all. I mean your world, too. I realize I probably don’t know you, but still, I was going to save you from harm.

I know men are supposedly fixers, but when I get in this mode, I really don’t care if you empathize with my feelings. I’m laser focused on solutions. Get out of the way and hand me the wrench.

Examples? On Fix-It-Day:

A. I wrote the FCC to try to get them to fine a network that had been harmful.

B. I found a medical journal article about alternate filtration systems and tried to organize a sewing group to make masks out of vacuum filters.

C. I drilled some Boomers on their Covid-19 survival skills—everything from how they did their banking to how they washed their produce.

D. I researched the economics of bulk powdered eggs vs. the average laying power of a Buff Orpington. 

E. I researched alternate jobs for myself, in case I can’t get back into the recording studio for a long time.

F. I compared professional sling shots and put one into my Amazon cart along with sling shot ammo and replacement bands. I decided I was pretty sure I could take out a rabbit if I had to. (??!!!) I could also skin a rabbit. Just like taking footie pajamas off a kid. I WILL HELP EVERYONE SURVIVE WITH MY SLINGSHOT.

G. Okay, that’s enough. I’m not telling you any more. But it got worse than this slingshot.

Now, some of these fix-its aren’t bad things to do. (Though several are pretty darned weird and a few are obnoxious.) However, I did even the best ones in a frenzy of determination, not necessarily in faith. I was rushing in to make things better with my own strength.  Which, of course, is not how the whole Christianity thing works? (How many times do I need to reread the vine-and-the-branches story and Galatians 3:3 to get this through my thick head? HELLO God, it’s Uzzah again. Sorry.)

4. The Night I Couldn’t Sleep

This happened last night, and it was weird. My heart started racing, just like I had been running. 

News had just broken that the virus impacts 20-somethings afterall, and for the first time in all this, my momma’s heart began to worry about my two young adult children.

I had also just read about the abuse Asians are receiving right now— and since my third child was adopted from China, and since we live in the state with the highest number of white supremacists in the country, I felt like a momma bear. Snarling, ready to fight, but also afraid for what I could not prevent.

I prayed, of course. I tried to lean into God’s sovereignty. I took slow breaths. I willed myself to think of other things. But this was more of a physiological response than a desire to fret. Fear was taking over me.

It finally quit, but ugh. However silly the disciples looked yelling at a sleeping Jesus to wake up during that storm on the boat, I’m sure I looked like even more of a coward. 
 - - -

A few days ago, I gave you a list of what we need to be doing as Christians during this crisis. I still love that list. It’s absolutely true. But I also wanted you to know how I’ve messed up. 

There are minutes, hours, even days where I’m mostly walking in the power of the Spirit, letting Jesus be my hands and feet, serving. But this season is new for us all, and some of these days, I’m struggling too.  

I guess Covid-19 is showing me just how much I need God’s strength and grace to get me through every single day. And honestly, realizing that I’m weak has been just as helpful as doing the right things.

Now I feel more empathy for the desperation others feel in times of much greater crisis. I don’t think I’ll ever watch refugees trying to get to safety without realizing they’re actually stronger than I’ve been. It took something so tiny to rattle me. Sigh.

Recently, I finished Graham Greene’s _The Power and the Glory_. It’s about a failed, alcoholic priest who clings badly to the faith as he flees persecution like a selfish coward. I started this book without much empathy for the guy. I finished it realizing that the mercy of God is a wonder in light of human weakness. He loves us. Isn’t it crazy? He loves the ghastly mess we are.

So, if you are struggling, too, you’re not alone. We’re all having to grow up through this, and growing is hard sometimes. However, I think God will finish the work he has begun in us, even if it’s messy—and that’s a beautiful thing to consider. 

As I think about the Passover—about how the angel passed over the doors of the children of Israel because of the mark of the lamb’s blood, I wonder what sort of people were inside those walls. Were they necessarily calm? Were they necessarily selfless, kind, or steady? I think the rest of that story shows us just how flawed they were.

Still, God loved them. He honored the little bit of faith it took to paint that blood on their houses. Some days, that blood is all I have, too—and this crisis has made me awfully grateful for it. It’s the center. The core. It’s the power from which the rest of any good we do flows.

Photo Credit Niebla (Morguefile)