The last few weeks have been a blur and also, somehow simultaneously, what feels like a slow trudge up a steep mountain.
I read something this week about trauma that stuck with me. It said we’re all living through a collective trauma right now. For those of us who have experienced trauma before, this will likely feel like a sudden re-opening of those wounds. For those of us who have never felt it, it will be saddening, overwhelming and maybe even downright confusing.
Whichever side of the spectrum you fall on, odds are you’re feeling some pretty big feelings about all of that. I’m here to tell you -and mostly myself- that that’s okay.
These days look a lot different than I was expecting. I had all of these big ambitious plans for the year I grew my first little one in my belly.
All of these things I wanted to accomplish and experience. Odds are most of them probably won’t happen now, and I’ve been trying to remind myself that I’m allowed to feel sad that this pregnancy that I fought so hard for won’t look like I was expecting it to. I won’t get to go out shopping for sweet baby things, or get to show off the belly bump in pretty thrifted maternity dresses at church on Sundays.
I can’t even have my husband come with me to my twenty week scan, or to doctors appointments like he used to.
I most likely won’t get to have a baby shower, or even be able to have family except for my husband there when I deliver.
I remember how excited we all were when the first friend in our smallgroup had a baby. We couldn’t wait to rush to the hospital to see them and see their new little one.
Most likely, I won’t have that. And it’s okay. But it’s okay to be sad too. To mourn the season that I was so excited to walk (physically) through with my friends and family close around me. For now, FaceTime and phone calls will have to do.
But through all of this- through a literal stripping down of social events and societal norms, and little comforts, the thing I’ve been learning lately is that those things don’t matter anyways.
Jesus matters. People matter. Love matters. The church was never meant to be four divided walls. It was always meant to be a people. Us.
No virus or restrictions or quarantine will change that, or prevent us from leaning in and pouring into our community. It’s just going to look a little different for a while.
One day I will probably have to explain to my baby what the world was like when I carried them. The uncertainty. The fear. The days spent transitioning from bedroom to living room to balcony. Choosing between different parts of the apartment like you normally would choose between different fast food restaurants. Planning meals a week in advance to make sure the grocery order was correct, because going out was too much of a risk.
I will be explaining to a wide-eyed child that at one point we couldn’t go to normal stores. We had to wear masks when we went outside. We couldn’t see our friends, or go to church or the movies. And people went crazy and started hoarding toilet paper. I can imagine them laughing when I say that.
More than anything though, I pray that when we tell future generations about all of this, we would focus on the good instead of the hard or stressful. The relationships cultivated + nurtured. The amazing friends who sent sweet care packages or letters. The people who checked in on us every week. The hours spent on the phone or face timing with family and friends. The new skills we learned and meals we cooked. The Sunday mornings spent tuning into church online from the safety of our living room.
When all of this is over, I hope we remember what God taught us in this season; what a beautiful gift it is to slow down. Lean in. Breathe deep.
That we would learn the true value of things, whether it’s the food we eat or the people we love. There’s been a quote circulating on social media the last few weeks that says “In the rush to return to normal, let's use this time to consider which parts of normal are worth rushing back to." I think if we can all sit with that, and really take it to heart, the worlds going to look a lot different even after things “go back to normal” and that’s perfectly fine with me.
So lean in. Let yourself be sad. But let yourself be happy too. Look for the good. The helpers. The little silver linings. We’re all going to get through this, one way or another.