The Sunday night blues are getting worse.
I've always had them. Almost always.
Sunday night. The evening you spend thinking about returning to work and wishing it wasn't a thing.
It's so much worse now.
I have to wear a mask all day. I have to take my temperature before I begin my shift. I have to take the temperature of visitors entering the building. Extra duties, extra drama.
It's not that I'm afraid to be out. I'm not afraid. I just cannot put into appropriate words how exhausting it is. Every task you undertake is an ordeal. It's three extra steps to do one thing. Nothing is simple anymore.
Each day it gets harder to keep your sense of humor. I'm not totally gone because I can share that I'm now thinking about giving up coffee. When you have to smell your own coffee breath all day it gives you renewed appreciation for your loved ones and helps you consider other beverage options.
I hate losing my sense of humor. It is the one thing to which you must hold tight, your humor. It is what allows you to make it through, and once it is gone, the only remaining thing to lose is hope.
The opinions are many. Too many. The dialogue, q and a sessions, "read this from my doctor friend," the theories, the articles... I've given up trying to process what is accurate. I don't believe it is within my scope to know it. The world and all its sources have proven untrustworthy time and again. The opinions of anyone are just that.
I know in whom I have believed. His word. His voice. Is the truth. As I go through the day, if I step back, as if stepping outside my body, I see the noise. Yes, you read it correctly, I "see" the noise. It looks like emotion. It looks like a train. It looks like a storm in which the eye is never quite reached. It looks like barren wasteland. It looks like deprivation. It looks like tears. I step back in and, in slow motion, the words I need to hear come toward me. The truth slices deeply through the noise.
"Angela, beloved daughter, you seek a home to come, here you have no continuing city. Ask me for wisdom and I will give it freely. Lean into me. Listen to my voice. This present world is full of trouble, it always will be. I give you peace to carry with you. Remember my joy. It's here. I'm walking with you each day. You never go anywhere alone. I made oceans and trees and stars and I hold your hand. Do not listen to the chaos. Do not be disheartened by the noise. You get to walk like a lion today. I will fulfill a purpose in your day. As you wear that mask, take your temperature, hear the opinions and politics, roll your eyes, and start to feel discouraged, remember I put you in year 40 in the year 2020 in this New York culture for a specific reason. You can't see it. You don't know what good is possibly going to come from clocking into work each day. But what you do every day bears witness to God. So do it right. Do it well. Shine a light in dark places. The dark will try to overcome you but it can't. Because you, Angela, beloved daughter, carry the light of the world with you. You bring hope when all the lights are going out. Be excited that it's Monday. You get to be an influencer. I am with you. Even to the end of the age."
Let's roll.
Sunday, April 26, 2020
Sunday, April 19, 2020
War Stories
Dear readers...
It's Sunday. It's quite difficult to differentiate the days of the week sometimes. Sundays traditionally do not look like today has been. Everyone talks about what they will do "when this is over." One can only guess and only time will tell just when that will be. Because I live in New York....it might not ever be over.
We have had some fun experiences with friends. We've participated in video wars, food wars, and camping wars. In a nutshell, taking and sending videos of dinners/what we're doing/challenges. We have received gifts of food on our porch and we have given gifts of food. We put up a tent in the living room and camped out overnight and so did our niece (at her house in Ohio). For the record, our camping trip was last night and my body isn't recovered. You can do a lot of things to keep purpose and meaning.
If we are old and dear friends, I probably have already laid out my well intentioned plan. My best strategy by far was to remove myself from social media. Just like a brave soul walks directly into what everyone else runs from, I'm doing the same in the opposite, and it doesn't require bravery. While many have flocked to social media several minutes/hours of the day, pouring over posts/news/gossip/memes, I simply made the decision to remove it from my routine. What blessed peace. For now, it is proving to be one of the best strategies I could employ.
I don't want to wear a face mask everywhere I go, but it's now basically required. I don't want to battle with my kids about routine and the need to shower every day regardless if you step foot outside the door. I don't want to go to work every day and come home to a house full of people who haven't left and pick up (some) pieces on top of everything else. It's exhausting some days and some days those I have left behind knock it out of the park. We're all just living one day.
It's still life. It still has purpose and meaning. And I am still required to rise up and meet it.
Today is Sunday. There is sunshine. And my group text message affirms my life and reminds me I am still very secure at the bottom of the food chain where my farming skills are mocked, and no one can EVER forget that I threw a pickle in 1987.
Look. I'm not likely to plant only one row of corn in the future, but I honestly can't say I won't throw another vegetable. These are the days of our life.
Each day has meaning and we can still enjoy those whom we hold dear.
Embrace today. Mask or not. Me? My man is going to take me on a motorcycle ride and we are going to see the world. And eat ice cream.
It's Sunday. It's quite difficult to differentiate the days of the week sometimes. Sundays traditionally do not look like today has been. Everyone talks about what they will do "when this is over." One can only guess and only time will tell just when that will be. Because I live in New York....it might not ever be over.
We have had some fun experiences with friends. We've participated in video wars, food wars, and camping wars. In a nutshell, taking and sending videos of dinners/what we're doing/challenges. We have received gifts of food on our porch and we have given gifts of food. We put up a tent in the living room and camped out overnight and so did our niece (at her house in Ohio). For the record, our camping trip was last night and my body isn't recovered. You can do a lot of things to keep purpose and meaning.
If we are old and dear friends, I probably have already laid out my well intentioned plan. My best strategy by far was to remove myself from social media. Just like a brave soul walks directly into what everyone else runs from, I'm doing the same in the opposite, and it doesn't require bravery. While many have flocked to social media several minutes/hours of the day, pouring over posts/news/gossip/memes, I simply made the decision to remove it from my routine. What blessed peace. For now, it is proving to be one of the best strategies I could employ.
I don't want to wear a face mask everywhere I go, but it's now basically required. I don't want to battle with my kids about routine and the need to shower every day regardless if you step foot outside the door. I don't want to go to work every day and come home to a house full of people who haven't left and pick up (some) pieces on top of everything else. It's exhausting some days and some days those I have left behind knock it out of the park. We're all just living one day.
It's still life. It still has purpose and meaning. And I am still required to rise up and meet it.
Today is Sunday. There is sunshine. And my group text message affirms my life and reminds me I am still very secure at the bottom of the food chain where my farming skills are mocked, and no one can EVER forget that I threw a pickle in 1987.
Look. I'm not likely to plant only one row of corn in the future, but I honestly can't say I won't throw another vegetable. These are the days of our life.
Each day has meaning and we can still enjoy those whom we hold dear.
Embrace today. Mask or not. Me? My man is going to take me on a motorcycle ride and we are going to see the world. And eat ice cream.
Friday, April 10, 2020
Walking the Streets
I have had many joyous days. I can say with confidence that my forty years have been beautiful. I have loved and had the love of one good man. I have loved and had the love of two sons. If today would be the day I meet Jesus, I would leave this beautiful life knowing that the best still waits for me.
Death is walking the streets. He can be seen more plainly than before, and as he goes he leaves a trail of bodies waiting to be placed in mass graves. Mass graves. Two words we don't often place together when we describe life in suburban America. Still Death walks. Slowly and surely through our streets. As he goes he twists and turns, taking this one and that one, and leaving one behind. His methods are ruthless, steady, and final. Devastation and heartache is all you will find when his work is complete. You would do well to fear such an opponent, for once you have engaged, there will be no recovery.
But what if.
What if Death walked the streets. Ruthless. Steady. Twisting. Turning. Wreaking havoc and devastation, but the poison of finality was no more.....?
Death is the great enemy because of finality.
There are no more baby snuggles. There are no more fudgesicles on a hot day. No more bike rides through the park. No more arms enfolding. No more hands to hold. No more smiles reaching to bright eyes. No more juicy apples. No more snowflakes melting on cheeks.
Final.
But.... Once upon a time.... Death, haughty and fierce, waiting since the garden, brought his top game with all its fury and force. And he surrendered to One.
Death walks the streets. Our streets. Piling bodies to the left and right. But we can have hope beyond death. He will twist and turn and mount sorrow upon sorrow but it is not the end.
Softly, tenderly, Jesus says, "Your sin? It's a big problem. It separates us and it costs a life. But
I paid for it. Your heart? I want it for my own. Your life? I laid mine down so you could keep it. Believe in me. Believe in the One that sent me. I am the First and the Last. I am the Beginning and the End. I will make all things new. Come."
Hope beyond death. The news you will not see on CNN.
The cities on the hill, we are getting tired, shining out in the chaos in few numbers. Still we hold our one candle high in the hopes that it will start another. We pray that it will be so. Hope is here. Take hold of it.
My one beautiful life has been a gift. One I don't relish relinquishing. But I know when I cross from this life to the next, Jesus will be waiting.
Can you say the same?
Food for thought as Death walks our streets.
Death is walking the streets. He can be seen more plainly than before, and as he goes he leaves a trail of bodies waiting to be placed in mass graves. Mass graves. Two words we don't often place together when we describe life in suburban America. Still Death walks. Slowly and surely through our streets. As he goes he twists and turns, taking this one and that one, and leaving one behind. His methods are ruthless, steady, and final. Devastation and heartache is all you will find when his work is complete. You would do well to fear such an opponent, for once you have engaged, there will be no recovery.
But what if.
What if Death walked the streets. Ruthless. Steady. Twisting. Turning. Wreaking havoc and devastation, but the poison of finality was no more.....?
Death is the great enemy because of finality.
There are no more baby snuggles. There are no more fudgesicles on a hot day. No more bike rides through the park. No more arms enfolding. No more hands to hold. No more smiles reaching to bright eyes. No more juicy apples. No more snowflakes melting on cheeks.
Final.
But.... Once upon a time.... Death, haughty and fierce, waiting since the garden, brought his top game with all its fury and force. And he surrendered to One.
Death walks the streets. Our streets. Piling bodies to the left and right. But we can have hope beyond death. He will twist and turn and mount sorrow upon sorrow but it is not the end.
Softly, tenderly, Jesus says, "Your sin? It's a big problem. It separates us and it costs a life. But
I paid for it. Your heart? I want it for my own. Your life? I laid mine down so you could keep it. Believe in me. Believe in the One that sent me. I am the First and the Last. I am the Beginning and the End. I will make all things new. Come."
Hope beyond death. The news you will not see on CNN.
The cities on the hill, we are getting tired, shining out in the chaos in few numbers. Still we hold our one candle high in the hopes that it will start another. We pray that it will be so. Hope is here. Take hold of it.
My one beautiful life has been a gift. One I don't relish relinquishing. But I know when I cross from this life to the next, Jesus will be waiting.
Can you say the same?
Food for thought as Death walks our streets.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)