Light and Water

How do you make a memorable first impression?

I have already shared a link to one of my previous blog posts, but I thought I would formally introduce myself in this week’s post.

I could tell you that I am the daughter of my two parents who remain married to this day. Or I could tell you that I am a big sister, the oldest of four girls, the youngest two of whom were adopted at a young age as foster children in our home. I could tell you that I am an auntie to three nieces and a nephew, two of whom are now productive young adults, one of whom is making her way through the single digits on her way to her 10th birthday, and one of whom I haven’t seen since her first birthday due to unfortunate circumstances.

I could tell you that I am a wife, a second wife, married to a man with two adult children and now three grandchildren born over the course of the nearly fifteen years we have been married.

I could tell you that professionally I have been employed by a newspaper where I did everything from selling advertisements to overseeing publication of legal notices to editing copy, and even to the one thing that I had studied to do – writing a little bit of copy. I have been a purchasing agent for an ingredients broker. I spent one of the most miserable months of my life working at a hospital as a central monitor tech, watching the heart rhythms and vital signs of patients who were hospitalized; I took the job, as did several other people, who had been offered the hope of moving to another position within the hospital, in physical therapy for me, if we put in our one year like good soldiers.

Though all of that information about me is true, the first part of it sounds like an assignment I completed in a communications class, and the second part of it sounds like text one would put on LinkedIn.

The first time I saw this amazing picture, I was so drawn to it that I knew I had to find it, screenshot it, and eventually put it in a place where I would be able to enjoy it daily in my home.

In it I saw the vibrant sunrise that reminded me of the serene joy that I have experienced at the beginning of the day. I was reminded of the mornings when I would get up, dress in my laid out running clothes, tie my shoes, and head out the door into the dimness of the predawn, knowing that I would be running as the world went from silent to awake, hearing the birds sing and seeing the day break across the horizon.

It reminded me of some of the best mornings ever, the mornings when I would awaken in my tent, unzip the tiny half circle window near the tent’s base and see the sun accenting fluffy, popcorn white clouds scattered across the sky.

It drew me with the arc of water radiating color sparkling through crystal. It made me think of the times, both long past and so very recent, starring at the sun glistening on the water whether a local river or one of the most amazing bodies of water that humans get to enjoy, our Great Lakes.

It beckoned me back to times I had spent in the cool water of those lakes, strolling, playing, posing for pictures, and spinning on an inner tube as the waves pulled me back to the sandy shore.

I could almost feel the freedom of pushing off the wall in the pool where I used to swim, the cool water washing over me, the light flickering off of the water broken by my stroke, the sense of weightlessness that one gets as they glide through the water when their stroke technique is on.

Whether still or not, I am drawn to water, but I have been, on more than one occasion, told that I embody the “still waters run deep” phrase. That may be the case. As an often quiet, listener – an observer, I likely appear detached and placid, but in reality I can be just as intense and even fiery. I am a person who likes to ponder, consider, and think things through. I am also a person who will fight to preserve a conviction or principle, and anyone or anything that embodies those principles.

At times lately, I have been overwhelmed by the level of darkness that seems to be moving across our nation like storm clouds on the horizon. But I believe the principle that light shines brighter through darkness. As a member of the community of Christians in this world, I believe that it is the primary role of each of us to reflect the light of the one who was and is the Light of the World.

The first impression that I hope to have made here, a great deal of the story of who I am can be told through light and water. In the light I find wisdom and hope. In the water I find clarity and peace.

The Tricks of Time

Vibrant scenery, a suntanned cast, upbeat music, and a quirky but happy ending – all the things that make for a fun night at the movies.

As the movie nears its conclusion, Donna (Meryl Streep) is thrilled when her daughter Sophie (Amanda Seyfried) asks her mom to help her prepare for her wedding. As Donna helps her daughter wash and style her hair and don her wedding gown, the two sing “Slipping Through My Fingers,” a song about a mom watching her daughter as she grows up, wondering where the time has gone, wishing she could slow it down.

I was a bit teary listening to that song as we watched Mamma Mia again recently.

I’m not a parent. I didn’t share the experience Donna portrayed and sang about on Sophie’s wedding day, though a different connection allows for me to understand the sentiment.

The connection to the sentiment is a recurring thought I’ve been having for a few months now, about my parents.

Suddenly my parents, though the same people I’ve known all of my life – aren’t anymore.

My dad who would spend evenings working in his garage, who could fix almost anything with an engine, and could practically remodel a house still understands how to fix almost anything with an engine, but my nephew, who recently graduated with a degree in an automotive repair field, now does a lot of the manual work with and for his grandpa.

My mom would have loaves of fresh baked bread sitting on the counter when we got home from school, would keep a flawlessly clean house, and could do complex calculations often without calculators. Mom can still bake – everything from bread to the best cinnamon rolls ever, and she still keeps a flawlessly clean house, but doing all of those things the way she likes to do them to be done, like she does when she hosts holiday gatherings, takes a toll on her now.

Though we’ve been separated by about 200 miles since I was in my 20s, I’ve visited my parents and have spent many holidays with them consistently throughout the 20 plus years that have rushed by since I left their home to pursue my life and career when they moved to pursue their long-standing dream of owning a small motel in northern Michigan.

My parents sold the motel several years ago. After renting a house on a peaceful, pine tree lined property not far from the motel, they are now planning on moving to, or near, the city to which my husband and I just moved so that they can be closer to us and to life’s necessities like grocery stores and medical facilities.

How did my parents suddenly become a couple in their late 70s, soon to enter their 80s.

They’ve been grandparents for just over 20 years. It was fun to tease them about it then. They weren’t even quite 60 when my niece, their first granddaughter, was born. They were managing a business, doing all of the work themselves.

They are still certainly capable of making their own decisions and caring for their daily needs at this point in their lives, but several things are more difficult for them, and it has only been recently that I have noticed how much help they do need, especially with the more physical demands of life.

As I thought more about it, and as I became more introspective and honest with myself, I want them to be closer not just because they need our help more now, but also because, in a way, I think I need all of us to be more a part of each others’ lives as I see how quickly time is passing, for each of us.

As I look back at my life, now so much closer to 50 than I am to 40, I feel like it passed so quickly, and it seems like I’ve missed a lot of it.

If you know me, you know I take pictures – of everything. I have for years. I have actual prints, pictures of the family camping trips, the Christmas Eves at Grandma’s house, the birthdays, our graduations, from decades ago. And now I have the digital pictures from some camping trips and Christmases from the last few years.

When I think about the pictures that have yet to be taken, I think of the line in the song, about how she wants to freeze the picture for just a little while, before the moment has passed forever.

I can’t stop time from passing. I can’t even freeze a moment; even with a picture it’s gone before the image appears on the camera.

The cruel trick of time seems to be that moments suddenly become decades. The answer I believe is to be intentional in planning the moments, all-in when living the moments, and grateful while remembering the moments.

Beginning With the Familiar Departure

We all knew that the chill was more than in the air as the Obamas and the Trumps walked together toward a waiting Marine One, yet the Obamas left the White House with dignity on January 20, 2017.

Though many will disagree, I believe that now former President Trump and former first lady Melania Trump left the White House in the best way they could on January 20, 2021, walking to a waiting Marine One together, unaccompanied by the president-elect and first lady.

No precedent was set by the former President’s not attending the inauguration of his predecessor. He is the fourth in the history of this country, I believe, to decline to attend an inauguration.

I remember inauguration day in 2017. I remember an image of a person wailing in the street. I remember that many felt as though democracy sat on the brink of disaster.

I watched that inauguration as a person who had voted for neither of the two candidates presented to the people by their political parties. I voted for Johnson/Weld in 2016 for a number of reasons.

As I watched, with the freedom of an unbiased observer beholden to neither party nor their candidate, I remember thinking that the republic would endure, and the disaster that led people to bizarre displays of despair would never occur.

I was right.

The only chaos that existed prior to the pandemic and the riots of 2020 was that which was created by a malcontent media and others who gave a man more power than any man should posses. Ironically it was given to him by those who hated him the most.

The rest of us found the three years of his presidency prior to the pandemic to be relatively peaceful and even somewhat prosperous. We did not feel the weight of the federal government nor its interference in our lives, until the pandemic. The federal government functioned as it should have in my opinion allowing the states to address the issues and needs of their own people. Some governors did well, and some governors exhibited, and continue to exhibit, unprecedented overreach.

It is this kind of overreach that leaves me with concerns as new leadership takes the reigns of the federal government. As the emotions of my fellow citizens range from relief to joy to frustration to anger to grief following yet another change in leadership,

Still, another peaceful transfer of power has occurred, something for which I am always grateful whether or not I voted for the winner.

I am always proud of our nation and of our people on election day.

The days that followed in 2017, actually even the days that preceded the inauguration in 2017, showed us that though power was transferred peacefully, there was an underlying power struggle brewing that would lead our nation to new lows in order to grasp that power.

Several members of government, many of whom I believe do not truly understand the beauty and the brilliance of the American form of governance, would like to tear apart our republic and make it into something different, in my opinion an idealistic impossibility that has been attempted and failed time and again, often with disastrous consequences.

As I sit with my own emotions, I know that I must return to logic. I hope that my confidence in the endurance of the republic is warranted.

I hope that the current administration will govern wisely. I hope those who serve in this administration will truly realize the value of e pluribus unum and the beauty it can contribute to this nation when diversity of every kind, including talents, ideas, and ideologies are embraced rather than reviled. I hope that the current administration is successful in upholding freedom’s values and the American dream.

Becoming the leader of the free world is an incredible responsibility.

Ultimately, each leader of the free world is no more than mortal man, or woman, who will one day make his or her exit from the esteemed seat of government.

Perhaps it would benefit each new leader to look forward to the day of his or her departure at the beginning of the term in office. It might make the days in between better for all of us.

Launching Into the Headwinds of 2021

It was an unseasonably warm night, and it was raining – pouring actually.

It was December 31st, 2018. Despite the weather, our house was full of family, friends, food, and fun. After having flooring installed throughout much of the lower level of our home and after having had the main living areas painted, we were finally ready to host the kind of New Year’s Eve party I had long envisioned hosting. It had been a great evening, one I look back on with much fondness.

I don’t recall anything about the weather on December 31st, 2019. I just remember that my husband and I were both tired. He was still working full time, and he was dealing with his increasingly ill sister even though she was in one of the best long-term care facilities in the area. Unlike the year before, our house was not full of people, food, and activity. It was quiet. The two of us sat on the couch waiting for the ball to drop.

He and I had been in agreement about having a quiet New Year’s Eve 2019. As I sat there watching the massive Time Square crowd cheer, dance, sing, and celebrate I sent a Snapchat. I told my niece and nephew and sister that I was having a New Year’s Eve party in 2020.

If we had only known what the past year would bring, I might have hosted the biggest party I have ever hosted on that night in 2019.

Whether I ring in the new year with my Honey, with a few family members, or with several family members and friends, I have always found myself to be excited as we near midnight, the new year, a new beginning.

I also experience that bit of apprehension that most rational people experience as the new year begins. We know that the magic moments surrounding the countdown and the official start of the new year are short-lived. After the toasts and songs and hugs and kisses, we realize that the problems of the previous year linger like the empty party cups on end tables and the thin layer of confetti that has fallen across the floor after the party has ended.

As 2021 begins, I have to say I feel little or nothing. I don’t feel that anticipation that I have felt nearly every year previously. In a way, my despondence is more of a global despondence. I know that no single person, and definitely no government, can create the utopia that some seem to believe lies ahead in the new year.

I know that the battle lines in this country have been drawn, and even those of us who would like to be better have been placed on a “side” based on anything from our disapproval of leadership to our thoughts about personal risk assessment to our thoughts about personal responsibility to our thoughts about liberty, even to our decisions regarding whether or not we gather in person with our family members.

The system, from political leaders to media outlets, seems to enjoy baiting people into even deeper states of division, and many are more than willing to participate in the boorish practice of tribalism that should be well behind us.

In addition to being realistic about the future not shining nearly as brightly as promised, and to being saddened by the ever deepening divide in this country, I am frustrated by the concept that the changes that occurred in our country are potentially the “new normal.” Some people even want many of the draconian measures that have been imposed upon citizens to become the new normal.

It was a pleasant, sunny, spring day in 2018 that I remember being grateful and being happy that we could choose, to a great extent, our own destiny in America. We could choose to travel as we were that day, to relocate as we have done, to change jobs – seriously, we could even choose when and where we would get our hair cut or go to dinner.

Not only are unqualified, self-serving politicians making decisions for us, but the outrage mob and the nation’s institutions are making decisions, for young people in particular, that will leave the next generation even more confused than the one before it. Banning books like To Kill A Mockingbird!?

Attempting to “protect” people from the dirty history of this nation allows for the opportunity for that dark past to be repeated, and “protecting” people from feeling uncomfortable because they are mentally and morally challenged leads to a weak-minded and easily manipulated person.

As this year begins, I have great concerns about both the immediate and long-term future, of our nation in particular.

Personally, I will be looking forward to our first year in our new home, and in our new hometown. I hope that we have the opportunity to make friends here soon, to go out to dinner with other couples, to participate in church ministries and activities, to go see a baseball game at the minor league stadium about a mile and a half from our house.

I want to find a meaningful job. I hope that my husband finds a meaningful job if he chooses to work a bit; I also hope he enjoys his retirement fully if he chooses not to work.

I will be working on taking better care of myself as I am closer to 50 than to 40 now. I’m different, and it has become apparent that I need to do different things to be as healthy as I can be.

I will be working on investing my time and energy wisely, in things that matter. I will be working to make the most of the time that I have with my family members, regardless of their ages. Time together is a gift not to be taken for granted.

On December 31st, 2020 we had family in our new home for New Year’s Eve. We had lasagna. We watched the ball drop. We launched out into 2021 together, but with each of us having a different course charted for us to sail as we move forward.

The winds of change blew hard in 2020. I struggled to stay on my course. My primary goal for the year ahead is still to travel the course that I was created to follow to the best of my ability despite the storms that swell throughout the year.

Perhaps smoother sailing than I anticipate lies ahead. That would be great, but I will take nothing for granted now. To be unprepared leaves one open to being blown along on a course that others have set for them. Going along for that ride is not for me.

Happy New Year everyone. I hope you find, or stay, your course in 2021.

At Least

When you take time to glance back through your memory at the pictures from your life, what do you want to see?

Most people hope to make the most of their talents, their time, their lives as a whole. However, as we have progressed through 2020, the concept of “at least” seems to be becoming more and more prevalent in some circles.

Though it really does not need to be defined, I took a moment to look at the actual definition of “at least.” I found the phrases “at the minimum” and “if nothing else” used to quantify “at least.”

Why then are people so willing to accept the least?

The phrase “at least you’re (they’re) alive” has become a go-to response as it relates to any criticism of government officials and public policies by private citizens who would like more from their lives than simply being alive.

Another common catch phrase as I read discussions surrounding the virus that has changed our lives over the course of a mere few months is “if it was you,” or “if it were you” if someone has a grasp on grammatical correctness.

I have spent the last several months more immersed in the COVID drama than I would like to have been, as have most people I would imagine. That being the case, I have spent some time thinking about the at least and the if it was you points.

In March when much of the nation issued shelter in place directives, we complied with the government’s stated goal of “flatten the curve.” As my husband so eloquently put it, “Most people like to help where they can; they don’t want to contribute to making a bad situation worse.”

During the second half of March, we basically stayed home, though we took walks outside in the sunshine and fresh air as often as the weather allowed. We canceled the trip we had planned for my birthday weekend, but we did get take-out on the actual day of my birthday.

As April came and the 14 days to flatten the curve had passed, we grew hopeful for a bit more freedom. But that didn’t happen. Fast forward to early May when we still hadn’t been given much of any freedoms back, my husband and I ventured south of our border, into Ohio. They had opened their restaurants, and the idea of going out, seeing the faces of other people, it seemed pretty good to me.

Our governor had told us people were terrified to go back to work. In Ohio, on the second night restaurants were open, we found people who were polite, holding the door for us; a host who was pleased to seat us in a private booth; and waitresses who were laughing and talking with the group of people on the patio to whom she had just delivered a full tray of large margaritas.

Not long after that, we ventured back across the border so that I could get a haircut, something that we were still forbidden to do after four months of “lockdown” in our state.

Venturing across the border was a bit of a rebellious act under those circumstances, and I took pleasure in it. But in all honesty, my husband and I had frequently crossed the border for everything from shopping to dining to visiting, and even renting cabins, at the state parks in Ohio throughout the years that we had lived close enough to the border to do so.

We now have family in the northern areas of Ohio. We even continued to permit my young adult nephew and niece to drop in and stay with us anytime as they passed by on the freeway headed north to see other family members.

Family is family. They have never been virus carrying vectors coming from another state with all of their potential exposure. They’re my niece and nephew, and I welcome the chance to see them whenever it’s appropriate.

While I had seen my nephew and niece during the stay home orders, I hadn’t seen my parents. We had talked about going up north to surprise my mom on Mother’s Day, but I didn’t think it was the right time. The stay home order was still in place in our state, but that was of no concern to me. The timing just didn’t seem right. 

It was Friday morning of the first weekend in June. My niece and nephew were going to stay with my parents – their grandparents, and my youngest sister, and I needed to be with family. My husband had independently suggested we see if we could get a room at the “mom and pop” hotel a mile from my parents’ home, and once he confirmed we could get a room for the weekend, we packed our overnight bags and headed north.

We spent much of those two days outside because the weather was temperate and perfect for getting some fresh air and sunlight. It was a fun weekend – exactly what I needed to deal with the frustration of fighting an “at least” directive.

We have since spent time in Ohio getting cupcakes, having the best Thai food in either state, and most recently visiting a favorite orchard.

We had dinner around the fire on some friends’ patio. I had coffee with a friend outside on their “perch” on a pleasant afternoon. We’ve spent time with both my family and my husband’s family, gathering outside whenever possible. In case you’ve noticed a theme, yes, we are cognizant of other people’s health, and we just really like being outside enjoying the pleasant weather while we have it.

We have chosen to continue doing the things we’ve always done to the greatest extent possible. We have even been able to make a move we have been planning on making for quite some time. We have been able to explore new restaurants and new parks, and I even found a stylist to put some red accents in my hair.

We’ve done most of those things while wearing the requisite masks and observing the social distance, that again I will assert people who understand social norms have observed long before this plague – because it’s rude to be in a stranger’s personal space. The challenge is in doing so with family. I realize that introducing a new “people group” brings with it a new set of possible exposure, it’s hard to view family in that way, though for some it may be very necessary. Each family’s situation differs and is likely even fluid, particularly as this situation lingers on.

My husband and I continue to exercise, eat fresh food – though my angst creates a desire for sweets (oddly enough especially for Oreos, are perimenopause cravings a thing?), sleep well, practice frequent hand washing (as a meme I saw had said “I was washing my hands before washing your hands was cool.”), and address the stress that we have in our personal lives apart from the craziness of 2020. Not only do I believe, but I also know that those things will strengthen the immune system and make recovery from any illness more likely.

To answer the “at least” and the “if it was you,” well: at least I have lived life the way I would have wanted to the greatest extent possible over the course of the last several months despite the best efforts of government officials to prevent me from doing so.

If it were me, I would still adhere to my end of life choices, and if it were me, I now have all of the memories from this strangest of years that I’ve made in spite of some government overreach that would have taken them away. Life once lost is lost forever as we know, but time once lost is also lost forever.

If it were me, at least I can say that I have done what I morally and legally could in my community and state, through campaigns like Stand-Up Michigan and the Unlock Michigan petition drive, to fight for the freedoms for which so many people have given their lives.

I have also voted to protect those freedoms because they are not “my” freedoms only, they are yours as well. This virus crisis is but a moment in history. Freedoms once lost are not necessarily lost forever, but they are difficult to regain as the power-hungry people who seek to take freedoms and gain power will not give back their power easily. The virus is legitimate; still I encourage you to be future focused as well.

As I look back on this year though, I see those at leasts as cherished memories and decent accomplishments.

If it were me, it really doesn’t matter whether I die from COVID, any other medical cause, or an accident. I assumed the risk that comes with living when I was born. That choice was made for me. The choice as to how I manage those risks is my own, or it should be.

It should be yours as well. I hope that you have the opportunity to make the choices that are best for you and your family because you know better than anyone else how you should manage your risks, and how you should make the most of your life.

If it were me, I would hope that in my absence you remember how important it was to me that you have those rights because I believe that being alive without being free falls below even that lowest of bars “at least you’re alive.”

Where Rhetoric is Empty Rapport Endures

“Silence in the face of evil is evil itself.” This quote by Dietrich Bonhoeffer is embossed on one of many memes circulating on social media platforms in the aftermath of the death of George Floyd and the rioting that has followed.

On Sunday our pastor called upon the congregation, still “meeting” for services via the church’s YouTube channel, to assess their own culpability as it relates to racial tension and injustice in this county. Given that admonition, I have spent much time in thought since Sunday morning.

I have chosen to remain silent on the topic on social media platforms for the reason that I have been engaging in thought, but for the primary reason that I find the social media pool, much like the pool of actual news media for the past several years, to be very wide but nearly equally as shallow. Several of my Facebook friends have chosen to post, and I certainly support your right to express your thoughts, feelings, and position in that way.

Personally though, I wondered what I could add to the influx of memes, the paragraphs filled with varied emotion, and the shares of protestors and police officers who were trying to make things better rather than worse. And I continued to wonder what exactly I should do as I pondered again the pastor’s admonition. He presented the idea that many people don’t seek to interact with or know people who aren’t like them.

Should I post about the many interactions I have had, and enjoyed immensely, with people who weren’t “like me”? That seems like hollow virtue signaling – because it is.

Should I post that I’ve been treated like family by both my friends and friends of my husband who are African American. That seems disrespectful because, without the opportunity to tell the stories, it diminishes those relationships to mere marketing material.

Should I go to Detroit and march with protestors? I happen to like Detroit a great deal. When we were teenagers and moved to the Wayne County area for my dad’s job, we used to visit Detroit on a somewhat regular basis. I had the pleasure of watching the Tigers play “at the corner” in old Tiger Stadium. We rode the People Mover at its inception just to try it. We sat on the sidewalk on Jefferson Avenue for hours on the night of the Freedom Festival Fireworks, camped next to a family with a radio playing the Tigers game taking place just a few miles away. I don’t want to participate in any way in the destruction of Detroit.

How does one actually go about moving from being “quietly non-racist” to actually being “vocally anti-racist” without adding to the noise, without aggrandizing one’s self?

Words, so many words uttered that just evaporate – where is their value? Yet if remaining silent is evil, and I need to put it into words then I will do so.

In my mind it goes without saying that a person should be evaluated based on the content of his or her character rather than on any other factor. I find it completely ignorant that people are, or have ever been, willing to judge a person based on skin color – something that is written into each of our genetic codes. It makes no more sense than judging a person based on her eye color.

Though the statements that I made here are firm beliefs in my life, still they are words on a page. So again, I wonder, how does being “vocally anti-racist” accomplish anything of value? Have we not been taught from a fairly young age that actions speak louder than words?

So while I might not, so don’t look for one, update my profile picture with a frame on the subject of equality, I will, and have, in private moments discuss with a person why his assessment of a professional was based first on the fact that his skin was brown and his accent heavy rather than on his qualifications to do the procedure that needed doing.

I would also admonish a person that a joke, not an observation of the differences that make diversity interesting and enriching but a disparaging joke, is boorish and unwelcome. But I personally do not know people who behave like that. That’s not my family or friend group.

While I will not attend a protest at this point and contribute to the destruction of a city that was making its way back, I would certainly be willing to walk side by side with people in a peaceful show of solidary because I do believe that all of us were created equally and were endowed by our Creator with inalienable rights among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

The initial tragedy was that George Floyd did not deserve the death sentence that was passed on him by a police officer in Minnesota. The subsequent tragedy is that years, if not decades, of damage have been done to cities like Detroit that once were, and could be and should be so much more.

While I may discover other ways in which I could actually do something that matters, the final thing I know I will do is cherish the relationships that I have had and still have, and will encourage you to do the same.

In the late summer of 2016, my husband was invited to a birthday party for a life-long friend from his youth. My husband grew up in Benton Harbor, and though he attended a private school, he still says that his friends were the Benton Harbor High School guys because he felt like he had more in common with those guys.

We made the trip to western Michigan, though not the entire way to Benton Harbor, to the home of the sister of the member of my husband’s friend group who was celebrating his birthday.

That was not the first time I had met this particular friend group, and I was glad to have the opportunity to interact with them again. They are, in many ways in our opinion, more nuanced than his friend group who lives closer to us and each other, and their sense of humor and the laughter they generate when they gather is contagious and endearing.

Still, attending an event in a stranger’s house always makes me a bit anxious, really, attending an event of more than another couple generally evokes a little anxiety in me even when I know everyone. It’s just me.

Though my husband knew more of the people in attendance than did I, having grown up with these men and their families, it was made clear to us that their home, yard, pool, and table – which was well-stocked with food and beverage – were ours for the evening as well. We had a wonderful time. I know it meant a great deal to my husband to see his friends again, and they talked about gathering one day soon, but distance separates them now as it does so many.

Relationships like that are like rare jewels. Time-tested and separated by distance as their relationship is, I expect that these kinds of incidents wouldn’t threaten the bond that they’ve had. It’s certainly not the first time they’ve seen racial tension escalate into violence and hostility. It happened in their own hometown as protestors took to the streets in the 60s, violence ensued, and the National Guard was called upon to establish a perimeter that, fortunately, was not challenged.

Still the power of what brought them together then, and what brought them together again as they gathered from homes across the country over 40 years later, is a testament to the fact that what can bring us together is so much stronger than that which threatens to tear us apart.

My husband and his friends, over 40 years later

The party

A Writer with Nothing to Say

As the impact of the virus now classified as COVID-19 became apparent here in the United States and as government officials began to make decisions that led first to restrictions, then to closures, and then to shelter in place or “stay home stay safe” executive orders, I watched in bewilderment.

Fairly early on in the progression, around the time universities had started to take measures to clear their campuses and to cancel classes or move them online, I had been in conversation with a former professor and friend via email. We were actually celebrating the accomplishment of the Exercise Is Medicine on Campus (EIMOC) team having achieved silver level recognition for the college’s program for a second year in a row. He and I had worked together to bring an EIMOC program to the college in 2018.

Though he developed the exercise science degree program there, and he was my professor for the three required exercise science courses, he had been, and still is, a proponent of me continuing to write. When I had asked him how things were going at the college as the chaos of the closure and transition to online teaching was unfolding, his final comment to me in that email threat was, “I hope you’re writing about this!”

Writing about this made sense since “this” seemed to be all there was at that time, and still does seem to be all there is. I did indeed write two blog posts that related to the now global pandemic, “The Listener Speaks,” about the role of the media and the lack of journalistic integrity I had observed as I watched the daily briefings; and “Shining Moments Missed,” about those opportunities and events that make life memorable and meaningful that have been lost forever to the virus and the closures and cancelations it has caused.

Even my post “On Easter Sunday,” that was meant to be encouraging and uplifting, had tinges of the grief mingled into its text due to the awareness of the virus.

Given that the last two blog posts were not well received, less so than the post critical of the media interesting enough, I became discouraged, despondent even.

Despondent encompasses the loss of hope and the loss of courage. While many of us are working to maintain our hope, I believe I am losing some courage, or perhaps the amount of energy it takes to exercise it.

My next blog post was going to be unique in that it was going to be a series of questions. I have said many times that I have a vast number of questions surrounding this crisis and the way it has been addressed, but I have few answers.

I had intended to post, and pose, several of those questions with perhaps some of the data and limited answers that I have been able to find just to get readers thinking, searching, and asking questions of their own, because critical thinking has to remain an essential skill regardless of the circumstances in which we find ourselves. In times of crisis it becomes even more important.

As I’ve watched things unfold over the past week though, and as I’ve seen the deep divide in our country growing ever deeper, and as I’ve realized that we are not remotely “in this together” – though the cliché sounds idealistic and lovely, and as I have chosen to express my thoughts amidst those of people who feel as if they can do so freely, I have come to discover that perhaps the time for quiet observation is at hand.

There are people who need to be asking questions right now. They need to be watching intently and asking the right questions based on what they are actually seeing The practitioners on “the front lines” need to ponder what they are observing clinically at the bedsides of their patients, and compare it with the protocols that they are being asked to follow. I know, because I have read, that some are – a fortunate thing for their patients both now and in the future.

The people who are making decisions based on models and projections need to be able to question those models based on what is actually occurring, noting differences across the nation, questioning why the differences, determining whether the models were accurate, whether they are reliable for future decision making, and where they can adjust.

Certainly the penetrance of this virus remains in question, and may for a very long time. Clearly people have contracted the virus. The people who I am aware of personally or through my family have all recovered. But as we know all to well, not everyone recovers. And as we also know, people who have lost loved ones, to the virus or to all other causes, cannot say a proper goodbye.

Though there is so much more being lost now, and likely considerably more loss, in both variety and scope, to come in the months and even years after this is but a horrible memory, the death toll and preventing it from rising are the focus in this moment.

With that being said, this writer has nothing more to say about this truly calamitous situation.

On Easter Sunday

It had been several years since I had actually eaten a paczki, a filled donut type of pastry said to have been concocted to use all of the baking products in a house prior to the beginning of Lent. This February, I was preparing for Lent, and I was actually excited.

On the Monday before “Fat Tuesday,” the day people eat paczkis and anything else they want before Ash Wednesday, my husband and I had visited a large Italian market. There he bought a “cannoli filling” paczki for me. After sharing the paczki, and a blueberry one, I was prepared to observe Lent again this year.

Though a Protestant Christian, I have observed Lent for several years, as we were encouraged to participate in our own ways by the pastors of the Free Methodist church where we are members.

I had high hopes for a new beginning, new direction, perhaps a renewing of my commitment to the Lord. I was excited for Easter as well. I was hoping that something amazing might happen. Even as the new year had begun, my hopeful spirit had returned, and I had sensed something big. Perhaps the arrival of a new decade, as well as a new year, had given me that sense.

I could never have imagined that the “something big” would be a global pandemic.

We were among a group of perhaps 35 people in church’s worship center that can seat about 250 people on Sunday, March 15. As we participated in that service, I thought about Easter. The songs we sang that day started to point us in that direction. Lent is also designed to point us in the direction of Easter.

My thoughts turned to an Easter Sunday two years earlier. After having read a Lenten devotional by Tim Keller that led readers from the trials of a sin-cursed world in Genesis, to the prophets’ foretelling of a Savior, to the Gospels where we read of the final sacrifice of Christ on the cross, it was a powerful experience. I was excited to walk into church that Easter Sunday and to celebrate the risen Savior.

I had been praying since the beginning of this Lent for something like that to happen for me again this Easter.

On that last Sunday we were together in person, during his prayer our pastor had thanked God for “the brave people who came here today, and for those who are watching at home. (He) believes each person is where God wants them to be today.” I was indeed feeling brave, hopeful, and confident on that day. I knew then it was “a God thing.” I don’t know that “brave” is a word that many would use to describe me. It’s not a word I would use to describe myself.

But as this crisis wears on, as emergency “shelter in place” orders continue, and as numbers of the confirmed cases continue to rise – even as one would expect with expanded testing, my bravery has at times turned to anxiety, my hope to despondence, and my confidence to desperation.

In 1 Corinthians 15:13 & 14 Paul told the church that if there was no resurrection then his preaching was in vain, and their faith and their hope – and our faith and our hope – was in vain. But in verse 20, he reaffirmed that Christ was indeed raised from the dead.

Through my Lenten studies and through my pray time, I sense that God is asking me if I truly believe there was a resurrection.

It was easy on that Easter Sunday two years ago as I walked into our church with joyous expectation. The day was beautiful. The praise team was excellent. Spirits were high as we celebrated our resurrected Savior, with no thought that life’s normal could be torn away from us like it has been these past few weeks.

It’s when just living life gets difficult that we have to turn to the living hope. 1 Peter 1:3 says: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to his great mercy has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.”

I’ve liked the Phil Wickham song “Living Hope” since I first heard it. “The work is finished. The end is written Jesus Christ my living hope.”

It was very dark in this world when the religious leaders who had sought to kill Jesus succeeded via the Roman government. But Jesus Christ changed the course of human history when he stepped out of the grave three days later, giving hope to the world then and for the rest of time.

With things looking as dark as they do in our world right now, hope can be hard to find. Still I’ve been praying that Christ will bring hope to the world once again in some wonderful way this Easter. We expect that we will not be able to worship together in our churches, but only God knows what will actually happen on Easter 2020. Regardless, we know what happened over 2000 years ago.

“Then came the morning that sealed the promise. Your buried body began to breathe. Out of the silence, the Roaring Lion declared the grave has no claim on me. Jesus yours is the victory! Jesus Christ, my living hope….”

Shining Moments Missed

My eyes were open, looking up at the pale blue sky through the long window above our bed. I wasn’t dreaming, but I felt like I had awakened in someone else’s nightmare – yet again.

The weeks are starting to seem like months as the nightmare trudges across the country, stealing opportunities and crushing dreams with every cruel step.

As I looked at that pale blue sky above our bed, the pictures in my mind were becoming more and more pale too.

As soon as my husband had made our plans, I started thinking about the cupcakes I would choose – hopefully from Gigi’s which is right off an exit along the way to our destination for the weekend. I would think about the shooting range there and what kind of handgun we would choose this time. I had even looked at the menu for Palio’s, the restaurant at which we had dinner reservations.

An acquaintance from my high school days writes a couple of fashion blogs. Some of her early March photo shoots had been in Grand Rapids. I was excited looking at those photos thinking about how we’d be “right there” in just a few weeks time.

My husband had recently told me that he thought it was kind of fascinating that I had become interested in getting a handgun so, around my birthday, we were going to purchase one. The shooting ranges had been closed, but, before shelter in place orders, the gun dealers had remained open. My husband had told me that getting a gun would have to wait too though, because people were panic buying.

As a woman with a libertarian ideology, I am a strong supporter of the Second Amendment, however, there is quite a difference between panic buying toilet paper and panic buying a gun.

It was two years ago while I was on winter break as an employee of a local community college that my husband and I took a trip a bit south to find some warmth and sunshine. He asked me if I had ever fired a handgun, and I said no. So we went to Point Blank, rented a 22, and shot a few rounds.

For two years I had been pondering and looking into actually getting a handgun and obtaining a CPL. Now random people who ran out of toilet paper to hoard are in search of firearms…whatever. Maybe we’ll get a better price once this is all over, since almost everyone who wanted one should already have one.

For anyone who is vehemently opposed to guns, don’t panic. The process for purchasing a gun still remains intact, and the process for being able to legally carry a handgun is also intact, and quite complex – and fairly pricey. It has also been put entirely on hold in states with shelter in place orders, and even before, since no one can attend a CPL class.

No one can attend anything.

So alas, it is not meant to be – my birthday weekend has been cancelled. There will be no cupcakes, no opportunity to dress to go to dinner, and no shooting range for my birthday this year.

Hopefully I will have the opportunity to enjoy birthdays again in the future. What saddens me more is those opportunities that once missed are forever lost.

Colleges and universities changed their plans early on. I had checked with my nephew, a student at University of Northwest Ohio (UNOH), to see if he had heard anything definitive after his second to last session before graduation had been shortened, then completely cancelled. The answer that the students received after UNOH had sorted things out was that the next session would begin on April 6th with gen ed classes being offered entirely online.

Fortunately my nephew was – or is, kind of still – attending UNOH to get a degree in automotive technology and had just finished his core classes. He now has only one session left and has only gen ed classes left. He had said to me that day, “I never thought that Thursday would be my last day at college.”

Sessions cancelled; semesters interrupted; championship meets and games cancelled – entire collegiate competition seasons cancelled; K-12 schools closed; Girls on the Run programs on hold, with ever-fading hopes that their 5ks will happen still; the class of 2020 wondering how their senior year will end; weddings on hold, the pieces of broken dreams are likely to pile up to a number that would astound anyone who would care to count.

I know that people have passed away. I too have heard that in some hospital systems, even within our state, things are very rough. We are made fully aware of the gruesome and dark details daily.

What we might not think about so much are the shining moments missed.

The last week that we had church services in person, our pastor had asked us not to judge to harshly people whose “level of fear was different from ours.” I would like to add to that wise advice and to ask us not to judge to harshly people who are grieving for their losses, however small they may seem.

Family reunions are a “maybe.” Class reunions are a “better not.” Vacations are subject to government orders and an economic situation that will continue to evolve. Baseball’s opening days have already come and gone.

I’ve seen the memes about how we worshipped professional athletes, and how we’re better without them. As I think about the summer evening drives as the sun sets, getting ice cream, and listening to baseball on the radio, I’d disagree. I will also point out that not everyone who competes is a professional athlete, far from it.

High school students and college students play for many reasons other than a pro sports contract. Yes, some of them could sign lucrative deals, but the vast majority will never get close to the life of the “worshipped.” They’ve worked hard just to compete, and suddenly their seasons are over. Young athletes, I’ve shed a tear of two for you. I know it hurts, especially if you’re a senior.

Many high school and college seniors have worked hard for their degrees and honors too. Their graduation plans and parties remain a TBD as of now.

Take the time to be angry, sad, all of the things, just keep it in perspective. Those of you who are young might think that you’re losing your “one moment in time” (my totally ’80s song reference – because I’m old), but believe me, you are likely to have many, many more stellar moments. I hope you do.

It’s not necessarily immature, selfish, or narcistic for a person to experience some grief for the things that they have lost or might lose. It’s human. Hopefully, God-willing, we will not lose loved ones, but we will each lose something to this crisis.

I’m disappointed about my birthday. Not having a driver’s license, my life is somewhat of a quarantined life, especially during winter. I was so looking forward to getting out of here and seeing and doing different things. But I’ve baked my cake and put it in the freezer to decorate the day before my birthday. We’ll have something nice for dinner. I’ve got a few cards and a gift to open. It’ll be…well, it’ll be March 29, 2020.

I agree with a friend who will also “celebrate” a shelter in place birthday; this one doesn’t count.

I’m planning to make up for it with a fabulous New Year’s Eve party at our house. I’ve already invited a few people – seriously. We’ll have plenty of food, fun, hugs – no 6 foot rules. And how do I know that, one might ask – especially now. I don’t, but I certainly have hope.

The Listener Speaks

Recently, but prior to the COVID-19 crisis, I saw a meme that said, “It used to be that the media reported the news, and we had to form an opinion based on the reports. Now the media tells us their opinion, and we have to figure out if the events actually happened or not.”

If you’ve read many of my blog posts, especially of late, you know that I do hold political positions, though not die-hard political affiliations. I work to be an informed member of society. It has always taken some work, but I believe it takes more work now than perhaps in times past.

That being said, politics as a topic bores me. I have rarely watched a State of the Union address, and I have likely never watched one from beginning to end, regardless of who was Commander in Chief.

In the past week, I have spent more time watching news conferences held by the President of the United States (POTUS) than I have likely spent listening to or reading about politics over the last several years.

Why?

It’s not because I am obsessed with the coronavirus. I have concerns like everyone else, and I have questions like everyone else. But I know those concerns can only be addressed to the extent that I take the measures that are within my power to take, and my most pressing questions, like many of yours, really have no answers right now.

I follow Vice President Mike Pence on Twitter so, more often now, when I get those notifications that indicate that a press conference is taking place, I watch on my phone. I watch so that I can hear what the POTUS has said for myself, so that I don’t have to read what Daily Wire said, or what MSNBC said that NBC said that he said.

As I have watched the press conferences, I’ve been somewhat fascinated with the media members who are present and asking questions. Though I have not watched every minute of every press conference, I’ve started to recognize those who are frequently in attendance, perhaps members of the White House press corps, and to recognize patterns among certain members of the media.

Some of the patterns I’ve noticed fall among age lines, interestingly enough. The older members of the press seem to ask questions based on what they have just heard, and sometimes based on things that they have likely researched in advance of the press conference. Their questions indicate to me that they are listening and are able to quickly formulate ideas that lead them to further questions.

The younger reporters seem to be asking questions that are more leading, sometimes accusatory, and even divisive as was the case in today’s press conference.

Ater the President challenged a reporter based on the tone and intent of his questions, both he and Secretary of State Mike Pompeo were asked about their right to challenge or to chastise the media. Secretary Pompeo simply dismissed the journalist who had asked him by saying something to the affect of, “Is there a question?”

As a former member of the staff of a local newspaper, I am familiar with the concept of journalistic integrity. I know little about Mike Pompeo, though I am aware that some people sincerely dislike him. Regardless, I believe that Pompeo was entirely correct when, asked again about the message that the POTUS was sending to the world with his “calling out” an American journalist, Pompeo said that it is the responsibility of the media to listen to what is being said and to report it to the American people as accurately as possible.

Members of the media have a responsibility to do exactly that, to report the facts as they are presented, unless that person is writing an opinion piece that is clearly denoted as such.

It does not matter how much the members of the media like the person with whom they are interacting, how much they support or oppose the issues they are covering, or how different they think things should look. They have the right to their private affiliations, opinions, and voting practices. But when acting in their roles as journalists, they have one job to do.

The responsibility does not fall entirely on the journalists. With so many media outlets the competition to be first or most recognized has led to unethical behaviors: sensationalism, click-bait headlines, “gotcha” questions that lead to “lies” revealed. These journalists, the young and aspiring especially, fall into line with the culture of their employers. In today’s environment, journalistic integrity can be a career hazard.

As a person who writes a blog post to an audience of perhaps 25 and does freelance work as the opportunity arises, I may seem bitter. On the contrary, it has never been my aspiration to sit in the White House press corps. It has always been my desire to make a difference in my corner of the world. Certainly I would like my writing to be more a part of that, but I have found other ways through which I can accomplish that mission.

People often correctly say that we should be careful to get information from reliable sources, especially in times of crisis. Some journalists today took exception to the President’s insinuation that some of them may not be reliable sources of information. His comments, his reactions, and his response to this crisis in general are topics for a different time.

My point in this blog post is that we have a great deal of power over what information we accept as reliable. Whether in a time of crisis or not, we need to be discerning. We need to be curious. We need to be critical thinkers.

Those who employ journalists should have expectations of them. The journalists should have expectations of themselves. Whether they do or not, we should have expectations of journalists.

Those who sit as members of the White House press corps, or have been granted access through other avenues, are expected to be among the most talented in their field. Talent alone does not tell the entire story of the worth of a person’s work. If members of the media cannot put aside their personal agendas, especially during a crisis such as this, and find their integrity, they likely have little if any to find.