Jessica BriggsI see so much anger and finger-pointing in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic right now. I believe blame requires less effort than looking in the mirror. I remain resolute to not entangle myself in politics and arguments, choosing not to parse or judge people’s thoughts or opinions, actions or inaction. I have thoughts of course, yet I know all those pursuits lead to is division. So instead I’m focusing my efforts within. I’m doing the hard work of looking in the mirror during these days of isolation. Yet the most glaring thing I face during this pandemic is myself.
I see my physical limitations in ways I didn’t recognize only weeks ago. I once boasted about how much I could handle- the many hats I could wear without letting things fall to the wayside. I once considered myself to be a decent and striving wife, Mom, friend, daughter, Pastor, writer, home educator, leader… and here I am, barely holding daily life together.
Somewhere, in the midst of COVID-19, I misplaced my bootstraps. My courage has diminished and my capacity seems to have been drained, as if someone pulled the plug on the pool of busy-ness that kept me afloat. These endless days “safe at home” are hard. I’m floating now, but in a new reality, one that seems to be above the shallow waters, where I am privy to observe my life, without actively participating.
As I gaze down into the telling waters, I see my fears staring me in my face. I find my self-worth threatened unlike other days and find insurmountable doubt arise. Questions come through my thoughts like: Am I really good enough? Am I worthy of love? I have no feedback coming from others, like I normally do. I’m left to mull these things over… alone.
I’ve had to ask hard questions like:
Who am I when I’m exhausted?
Who am I when I am afraid?
Who am I when I cannot serve others?
Who am I when I can’t seem to string words together to write?
Who am I when I can only seem to take care of my immediate family, and have low capacity to shepherd and care for others?
I don’t like the answer to most of those thoughts. I find myself impatient, restless in ways I cannot describe. It’s not for lack of purpose or motivation, either. I’ve had to face the fact that I’m not superwoman or super special in any way. Things I would’ve described myself as seem to fall away indiscriminately.
“The Homeschool Mom” Today, it’s taken all my energy to ensure my children gained education. I love the ability and journey that homeschool has given our family. I love the literature we share, the languages and beauty we study in art and music and nature. We are arithmetic-ing, language arts-ing, reading, and learning, but it feels so much like drudgery instead of freedom these days.
“The Home Chef” It takes all my energy to feed my family these days. I’ve never made so many “easy meals” as I am right now, and I normally love to cook. I don’t even seem hellbent on organic, GMO free products. I’m just happy to get some food in my pantry each time I head to the grocery store.
“The Neat Freak” It takes all my energy to tidy up a room in the house…again. It takes all my energy to keep up with the washing and folding, the scrubbing and cleaning, even though I’ve always liked and maintained an orderly home environment. I see myself turn away from the mess and clutter, writing it off as no big deal and that I’ll get to it when I get to it. I would normally love these stay-at-home moments to reorganize a closet or redo my pantry or some other Pinterest-led project, but I just can’t.
“The Engaged Mom” It takes all my energy to find creative ways to keep my children happy, even with the countless spreadsheets and resources available. My inbox overflows daily with ideas. Normally, I’d delight in playing a game of cards or snagging some snuggles and a story. I love putting together projects or activities my children can do to grow their mind and hearts, but these days I’m letting them do things I’d normally say were off limits, like video gaming. The hours just drag on and on and I can’t seem to fill them without our library visits, museum days, beach walks or hikes.
“The Family Planner” It takes all my energy to cook another meal, light another candle at the dinner table, have another tea time together- usually, uplifting moments in my daily life, but seemingly laborious these days.
“The Serving Shepherd” It takes all my energy to host a few weekly online gatherings to check on the relational and spiritual well-being of many people whom I truly love and care about. I normally love to support and walk with people through hard circumstances. I have many good ideas of ways to show love to others, yet my ability to execute seems null. Prayer is the only thing that seems a companion during these days, an outlet for the daily list of sadness, bad news and sorrow so many of us are feeling.
“The Confidante” It takes all my energy to have conversations laden with talk of quarantine, disease or what the future holds after this. It takes all my energy to check in with those dear to me, to say “let me know if you need anything,” when I doubt I can really step-up in the ways I normally could. Dropping everything to come alongside a friend seems much more difficult when there is no “everything” to drop any more.
I think this time has shown me that *this* is it; this is reality when everything is stripped away. Who I am when everything is stripped away is not who I thought I was. I am not as strong as I thought I was. I am not as brave and courageous as I thought I was. I am not as needed as I thought I was. I am not as gifted or called as I thought I was. I am not as spiritual as I thought I was.
So as I face myself in the mirror, it boils down to this: I am human. All these mantras I’ve chewed on to find meaning and purpose in life have simply come up to mean absolutely nothing in these days. All the personality tests, spiritual inventories, memory verses, theology… it just doesn’t fill my heart in this time of sorrow.
What I really need is grace. To know that despite my shortcomings, or the fact that every hat I once wore proudly has fallen off, grace makes a way for belovedness. Grace marches me into the truth that I am loved for just being a human. God doesn’t shy away from my mess; instead, He gives me His Presence as a companion. In my need and desperation, in my exhaustion and scaled-down efforts, Jesus reassures me just as He did the doubting Thomas. He gently opens his cloak and shows me his wounds- his humanity.
You see, Jesus was God in flesh and he was stripped down, too. He was shamed. He couldn’t pull himself up by his bootstraps, either. He didn’t rise up in power and show his ability or divinity. He couldn’t put on a happy face and be a stoic hero in the last days of His lives. He wept. He mourned. He felt things in his soul. And while I’m still sorting out what this all means about me, I find immense comfort in knowing He is with me. He’s been here before, and the grace I find is helping me survive moment by moment.
You see, grace isn’t something you “get.” There’s no spiritual practice that gives you the outcome of grace. Grace is the person of Jesus, in all His humanity and divinity. It’s both the mess and the beauty. Life isn’t categorized neatly in black and white, good and bad, right or wrong. There are no dichotomies, but rather it’s both. So when I ask for grace in all my glorious weakness, He gives himself to me freely.
God’s grace is the only thing that redeems our past and gives hope for the future. It’s the hope that in all my mess and failure and doubt, there’s still more to come. Grace leads us to love, but we only get there when we look in the mirror and acknowledge our suffering.
Maybe you need a new heart to live with during these days, too. <3
