The transition from laughing at memes to wondering if I need to buy ten kilograms more rice has been a quick one. This Covid19 virus is potent, for sure, but there’s something much more potent in the air and it’s seeped into my skin and made its way to my lungs so much so that every now and then it’s hard to breathe.
Fear. It’s thick in the atmosphere right now and as much as I’ve tried to resist it, it has wriggled its way in.
It isn’t fear of contracting coronavirus. There are many who live in fear of any illness because of their immunocompromised bodies and I desperately want us to see this virus contained for their sakes. I don’t want to carry Covid19 because I know that I’ve come across vulnerable people in the last few weeks and to think that I’d contributed to their harm would hurt me — even if it was unknowingly.
My fear is of fear itself. (I know, I know — what a unique thought I’ve had. You’re impressed.) I fear that we’ll hoard all that we can, toilet paper & flour & rice & veggies, and hold onto it at the cost of others who could not afford or access the stores. I fear we’ll be beholden to fear for much longer than this pandemic lasts and that our connectedness, which is already suffering, will completely sever because we’re not sure if that sneeze was hayfever or a virus. I fear that my inability to purchase hand sanitizer right now will mean that I open the wrong door and find myself sickly. I fear that my fear is unfounded and I fear that my fear is founded.
But fear cannot have the last word and though sometimes it renders me breathless, it will not render me powerless.
I will mix flour, salt, water & yeast and watch its slow transformation into a beautiful boule of bread, to share with friends and family alike, because the daily bread we are given spiritually sustains us but oh, how lovely is the smell of fresh bread from the oven.
I will laugh at the way my dog chases, and catches, her own tail almost daily and post videos of it to my Instastory, because simple joy is precious in the midst of fear.
I will read books that have been piled high in the ‘read me soon’ stack and relish the words written as though each was a gulp of fresh air, because stories are healing balm to scarred souls and oh, we have many scars, friends.
I will make tea and enjoy company, whether in person or from afar via messages and phone, because though it is easy to believe we are alone in this, I am persuaded that we can come out of this more together than ever if we just remain invested rather than protected in our toilet paper forts.
I will be wise and listen to the experts by socially distancing and hand washing and not attending and yes, even when it comes to church, I will take a step back for the sake of those vulnerable in the congregation whose steps could be taken from them should I exercise my freedom to gather.
I will admit that I am afraid so that words of hope can be thrown my way when my voice quivers and my shoulders feel heavy, because I need you just as you need me. We were not made to be in this alone.
A virus is causing this pandemic, yes, but fear is the voice screaming louder than the rest. Let’s be wise. Let’s be kind. Let’s use our freedom for the good of others. Let’s bake cakes and drink tea and use up the forgotten pantry items like they’re in a Masterchef mystery box.
If you were wondering, I didn’t buy ten kilograms of rice because fear doesn’t write my shopping list, I do. But I did buy twelve kilograms of flour, because that’s what I do every few months to keep the bread supply flowing around here.
May we walk through this season with super clean hands and lungs not held captive by fear. May we transition from this season into another where a sneeze is just a sneeze and not a cause for panic.
But today, I’m afraid.
How are you?
