The pressure intensified. I felt a cringe-worthy explosion mounting. Of all places—the sneaky sneeze threatened to erupt in the middle of the Walmart check-out line. Public disgrace loomed.
So eyes watering, I ducked my head and squelched the eruption into the least noticeable decibel I could muster without blowing my ears drums to kingdom come. My mask muffled it. No one ran for cover. Or gave me a dirty look—though I did my best to dodge eye-contact.
A year ago—a sneeze? No problem, a forgotten occurrence five seconds after the fact. But these days, the once innocuous incident, a cough, a sneeze—are head whipping events. Viewed with fear and suspicion, the offending noise can clear a room faster than a family of skunks.
My son faced the same problem in a crowded home improvement store. He found his solution by high-tailing to a deserted aisle, expelling his sneeze, and strolling away with an air of innocence.
A friend, after choking on her drink and hacking involuntarily for two minutes— was side-eyed with such mistrust she felt compelled to broadcast the true cause loud and clear.
Another friend told me he ends each sales call and conversation with,
“Crazy times.” He says, “It’s the one thing we can all agree on right now.”
In this time of opposing views about Every. Single. Headline.
And the truth we all know–no matter our views on politics or pandemic, we are living through unprecedented days. And we flounder at times. Fear sneaks in and paranoia whispers.
Maybe you have virus fatigue. You’ve lived this reclusive life long enough and are done. Done with masks, done with being dictated to, done with it all. Yet we waver on the precipice—what price must we pay for our freedom, or maybe we should ask—what price will others pay when we invoke our freedom?
We looked forward to warmer weather with hope that maybe, just maybe, the virus would abate like the flu in summer. And then our dreams turned to stone. Just as we stepped out, numbers spiked and freedoms became restricted again.
And we wonder what next month will look like, and the next three months and what about Thanksgiving? And Christmas?
The scent of grief stings our nostrils as we hike onward, only to have the view on the other side obscured by clouds. We mourn the life we knew. The life we took for granted. Why does our human nature propel us away from thankfulness for those blessings until we realize what we lost?
And these changes threatens us as
Isolation imprisons us. Loneliness levels us. Sorrow shatters us.
But we have a constant companion who never wavers. And I thrill at this bold truth—
God is for me.
God is for you.
God inhabits our world as the constant rock of our existence. To think of the billions of people who trekked this earth—yet he cares enough about us to write down each of our sorrows in his book. And here are more tender tidings—he lovingly catches each tear and stores them in His bottle for all our days.
Does that kind of compassion blow your mind away like it does mine? I cannot fathom the depths of his love for us, a fickle and ever failing creation. But it chisels away the stone threatening my heart and reminds me we are beloved. God has our back. And we will survive our climb through 2020 and beyond with God as our unfailing guide.
You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.
My enemies will retreat when I call to you for help.
This I know: God is for me!
Psalm 56:8-9