Waves lap our feet. The tide gently creeps up the shore. Each ebb and flow reveals pieces of shell and rock hiding just below the surface. The water is cool, the air just warm enough. We have left behind the 106 degrees in our backyard. For the first time since March, it feels like we can breathe. There is no Zoom. We are no longer trapped in a purgatory of dirty laundry and endless unloading and reloading of the dishwasher. There is just sand, water, and the dynamic scene beneath the surface.
“I’m holding down the sand.”
Our 4-year-old states this with a triumphant grin. The sand oozes, seeping between the crevices of her toes. She plants herself more firmly and pushes harder and harder against its fluctuating form. She laughs with delight at her vain attempts to capture an uncontainable shoreline. Since the beginning of this new COVID-19 way of being, I too have felt like I am standing on a shifting, slippery foundation. We cling to facts and statistics, to the regular updates from public health officials and other leaders, to the ever-changing news coming out of our kids’ schools. Just when we think we have a handle on our reality, the sand shifts beneath us. The facts change, the interpretation is altered, the injustice is revealed. The ground is not as solid as I thought. My temptation is to dig my heels in deeper. To root myself in what feels most real. The harder I push, the more the sand gives way.
The delicate balance of life has been upended. I can no longer rely on help from friends or family in the same way. Each attempt at socially distant encounters is filled with a mixture of euphoria at the human interaction and fear at the worst-case outcomes. We are constantly weighing the health risks with the psychological benefits. A haircut, a meal, a birthday. There are no easy answers; there are no absolutes. I am making every decision as the very foundation of those decisions shifts beneath me like quicksand.
For days, weeks, and then months, we had the same dialogue. Our kids would wake up hoping the virus was gone. Now instead of asking, they assume it’s still here and play games about what life would be like if it was cured. Clare pretends she is going to the Golden Gate Bridge after learning about it on the ABC Mouse app. Paul plots out every detail of the birthday trip to Disneyland that didn’t happen in March, from the rides to the souvenir choices. And our youngest could barely roll over when this started, and now he is standing and trying to walk.
Nearly everything about the way we live our life has changed. We are spending more time together than ever before, yet so much of that time is compromised by trying to balance the many competing demands of school, work, and daily life. The misunderstandings and hurt feelings abound as we are all stuck together in close quarters. All the rough edges are painfully felt.
The summer gives way to fall, and there is no imminent return to in-person school or regular office hours. The solid ground I was desperately hoping for shifts yet again. One round of Marie Kondo-ing my life was not enough. If we haven’t used it five months into our sheltering at home, we probably never will. The shelf my high school scrapbooks take up can be better used for homeschool supplies. My late 1990s CDs can happily live in the cloud to make room for a home office.
There is a painful stripping away happening within me. I am shedding things that have felt essential to survival. The loneliness is real. So are the feelings of being overwhelmed and defeated. Many of my friends are struggling in significant ways. Divorces, deaths in the family, new babies born…. and limited ways for others to help. In these moments, I feel the riptide pulling against me, trying to drag me under.
I am powerless to control the crash of the waves, the pull of the tide, the sinking of the sand. And yet, God is not. I don’t expect our present reality to change. Despite that, I know that God can be that solid ground I am seeking.
A Concrete Suggestion:
When I listen to Nickel Creek’s “When You Come Back Down” I imagine God continually repeating to me. “I’ll be your solid ground.”
When you're soarin' through the air
I'll be your solid ground
Take every chance you dare
I'll still be there
When you come back down
When you come back down
How does Jesus offer to be your solid ground today?
Jen Coito