This has been the most difficult part of the sheltering in place during the Covid-19 pandemic for me. Zoom and FaceTime have eased some of the feelings of isolation, but the quiet is beginning to affect me. I live on a busy street. I miss the school buses that stopped across the street from my home. I miss the drivers waving at people in their yards. I miss activity. Life has certainly slowed down. I don't see that light at the end of the tunnel, either. This is going to be life for the foreseeable future.
Walking has helped. During my two daily walks, I wave at other walkers. I have met many neighbors. A neighborhood pod has been established, and we check in one another through texting. We are trying to stay connected.
I actually emerged from my house for a quick trip to Walgreens today to pick up photos. It was strange to see Denton's busy streets practically empty. The scenes reminded me of the Cold War era end-of-the-world movies where there were no people on the streets, and store doors hung halfway in door frames. Perhaps a tumbleweed would be blowing down a street, adding to the desolation. Walgreens was quiet. There were just a few brave shoppers, all wearing face masks, and little conversation. The check out area had circles on the floor that were spaced six feet apart for distancing. There was no community of shoppers, only masked people on a quick mission.
During my walks, I meditate. One morning, I scolded myself because I was depressed about losing my long term substitute teaching position, about not physically seeing my granddaughters, and missing my usual activities. I miss my church fellowship. I miss my gym. I miss my personal rhythm of life. My scolding shook me into reality. The current situation is something that I cannot change. People have endured far worse than being sheltered with hundreds of tv channels and a Roku and social media. My groceries have been delivered, I lack for little except a hug, and I can pay my bills. Why am I depressed? I thought of my dad who spent forty months as a prisoner-of-war in World War II. He survived the worst that man can inflict on man. He told me many times that after his initial "why did this happen?" reaction, he made a decision that he would survive and eventually go home. He would laugh at my being sad about sheltering in place.
Eight years ago, I participated in the Walk to Emmaus. It's like a retreat, and the participants are shut off from tv, internet, and phones for three days. When I found out those rules, I almost pulled out. My Walk turned out to be a life-changing experience where I accepted the quiet and learned how to listen to God. I also learned to prioritize. Most of my life was poured into teaching with the rest dedicated to my family. There was nothing left for me. I decided to re-evaluate and became stronger and more settled. Now my life's priorities are faith and family. Teaching was my career, but I learned not to allow it to direct my life.
The Psalm "Be still, and know that I am God"(Psalm 46:10) was my mantra for my Walk and still is. I don't know why this virus hit us so hard, but maybe it's a message for us to slow down. "Be still" and think about what is important and what isn't so important. Maybe we needed an excuse to readjust and hit the reset button.
Try to discover ways to be still and listen. Our world will be changed by this virus, and it is our mission to assure that the changes are positive.
Be still. Know that God is with us. We are not alone.
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