Tastes, Sounds, and Sights During Covid-19

Tastes, Sounds, and Sights During Covid-19

It's been about eight weeks since we've stumbled into a new normal, and increased the use of certain vocabulary: 

Coronavirus, face masks, protective gloves, shelter-in-place, testing, tracing, PPE, ventilators, curbside pick-up, hand sanitizer, "Closed," toilet paper, numbers of cases per day, numbers of deaths per day.

You can add more words.

My husband, Doug, and I have spent the last eight weeks adapting to quick change and constantly new information. Doug works at Sparrow Hospital in Lansing, MI. He is the President of Sparrow Medical Group. Not only is he a physician, he leads physicians who work for Sparrow. His job is stressful, even when there isn't a pandemic sweeping our country. He is in his office every day and has meetings face-to-face, via zoom, and on the phone. Every weekend for the last eight weeks he has had up to six phone meetings. He has rarely had four hours straight without a Covid-19 interruption. He is good at what he does, cares for his doctors, and grieves over what this virus is doing to so many patients.  

The First Presbyterian Church of Lasing is home to an amazing food pantry. (I've written about this before.) For the last eight weeks I have found myself volunteering a lot more than usual. On Monday mornings I head to the Meijer grocery store to purchase what Doug and I need, and also things the food pantry needs.  

Grocery shopping is a more perilous activity these days. It took awhile, but Meijer finally got their employees to wear face masks and put up plastic barriers between cashiers and customers. But I still walk in with trepidation. With my mask and gloves in place, I race through the aisles grabbing items. 

Tastes

What do I panic buy at the store? Bananas. 

Usually three bunches. 

We like bananas. But not three bunches worth. 

There are things I stress-bake every week. The first is something I hadn't made in two decades: Lemon Bars. 

I had lemons on the counter (to use with fish) when Covid showed up. 

In one mad moment I thought, "I should make lemon bars!"

So, I did. And I do. Every single week.

Homemade bread.

Yeast hates me. But my friend, Lori, shared a recipe for bread that tastes like it was born in Italy. 

Yeast likes me now. I make a loaf every single week.

Banana Bread.

(See panic buying above.)

What are the tastes you are experiencing?

SOUNDS 

Every year during Eastertide (also during Advent) I listen to Handel's Messiah. This year is no different, except that it sometimes makes me cry in my car when I hear,

"He shall feed his flock like a shepherd..."

I listen to this when I drive to and from the food pantry.

I also listen to the contemporary Christian singer, Lauren Daigle. Her song, "Rescue" is comforting.

The soundtrack from the musical, "Come From Away" has personal meaning and also reminds us all of a time when we endured another tragedy as a country, but found kindness and grace from strangers in another place.

Phone calls with family and friends far away.

I love hearing the children in our neighborhood playing outside. 

I love hearing our cats purr.

What are the sounds in your life?

SIGHTS

Eight weeks ago, when we knew things were far worse than expected, we hauled out our Christmas lights and re-decorated the three fir trees in our front yard. We decided we would leave them up until there was some semblance of normalcy. (We actually thought that might happen...) We will keep them lit and hope it cheers the folks in our neighborhood as they drive by.

Books I've read or am reading during Covid-19

My new author crush is Lori Nelson Spielman. She is the international best selling author of 

"The Life List" and "Sweet Forgiveness"

She is amazing. 

For spiritual growth I am reading two books by Annemarie Kidder.

She is the Pastor of Pennfield Presbyterian Church, and was an assistant professor at The Ecumenical Theological Seminary in Detroit, MI 

She is the author of several books. I'm reading:

"Making Confession, Hearing Confession" and "The Power of Solitude"

Before I go to bed at night I read something light. Thanks to my friend, Linda, I'm crazy about:

"The Mrs. Pollifax Series," by Dorothy Gilman 

(Another sight is the screen of my computer as the Pastor Maggie book #5 comes to life.)

I know it is a challenge for young families to be in shelter-at-home mode. We have a family near us with three beautiful children. One day I heard noise in our backyard and saw this beautiful family laying a handmade bridge over a particularly muddy spot that I tromped through every morning to fill bird feeders. They had built the bridge and the children each painted a picture and signed their names on top. Such an incredibly thoughtful gift! I cross my bridge every day and thank God for parents and children who show such kindness! 

Sights also include the shelves in the food pantry. Each item we will take off and put into a box or bag. We always start with beans. Toilet paper and soap are needed by everyone. Snacks. Diapers. 

The shelves must stay full. (Please donate to your local food pantry.) Our team: Ron, Dave, Erin, Jim, Deb, Charlie, Brian, Barb A., Marna, John.

And lastly, masks. Thank you, Jo Powers, for making masks for us. I wear one almost every day when I might encounter other humans. My favorite mask has kitties on it (Marmalade likes it too!)

But one of the most sacred things in our house right now is the cork board where we have a calendar of our grandchildren, along with notes and pictures from neighbors.

Very quietly Doug has made it the one sight that raises a lump in my throat every time I come through the back door.

Doug gets his masks at work. Each morning he takes a new mask. He wears it all day. And when he comes home, he hangs it on a push pin in the cork board. Each pin holds multiple masks. 

It's the sight of Covid-19 I'll never forget.

GOD BLESS YOU DURING THIS COVID-19 TIME. MAY TASTES, SOUNDS, AND SIGHTS FILL YOU WITH HOPE AND JOY.

We fed people today... 4/16/20

We fed people today.

Yesterday we wanted to feed people and couldn’t.

Today we wanted to feed people and did.

Three of the large houses where folks are doing the good, hard work of beating addiction, came and got food today. Our shelves were depleted.

We restocked the shelves from our storage room.

Eleven families made appointments to come and get food today. We packed boxes. We found out if they needed diapers, feminine hygiene products, and what kind of meat they preferred.  Our refrigerator and freezers were emptied.

We refilled our cold storage with produce and meat.

A woman in the parking lot asked for someone to pray with her. I went outside. I was wearing my mask and my gloves. We didn’t stand close together.

“What would you like me to pray for?”

“My family. Protection from this virus. A way to get by without being able to work.” She wanted to hold my hands, but I told her we couldn’t do that quite yet.

So, we stood at a distance and I prayed louder than normal, while her two children looked on from the back seat and my amazing workmates brought out her food. (Thank you, Dave and Brian!)  

A parking lot prayer.

Because sometimes we need spiritual food, soul-soothing food.

Five different people walked to our doors without appointments.

“How many in your family, sir?”

“Five. Two adults, three kids.”

“We’ll be right out with your food. What kind of meat do your like? Do you need….?

Our shelves were depleted. Our refrigerator and freezers were emptied.

So, we restocked.

I came home with a glorious backache.

Because today we fed people.

Their smiles and words of blessing fed us right back.

Because sometimes we all need spiritual food, soul-soothing food.

May God continue to soothe all troubled souls, and surprise us with joy as we care for one another.

We wanted to feed people today... 4/15/20

We wanted to feed people today.

Families called and made appointments to pick up food.

Children are part of those families.

Houses with people working hard to overcome addiction called in their food orders.

We packed boxes. We filled bags.

Because we wanted to feed people today.

Downtown Lansing, Michigan. Our food pantry is open. We are ready.

With food packed, we waited for our clients.

But instead of clients, we saw and heard something else.

Cars, trucks, signs, horns, hate, scorn…

We wanted to feed people today.

But a nonstop parade of people, screaming and yelling from open car windows, blocked our streets and clogged our neighborhoods.

Some got out of their cars and talked and laughed about their big protest. Social distanced from one another? No. Wearing masks? No.

We wanted to feed people today.

They spilled onto Michigan Avenue and created a traffic jam outside of Sparrow Hospital. Doctors and nurses are caring for Covid-19 patients in that hospital.

People are struggling to survive a deadly disease. And beneath their windows, semi-truck horns blared. Car horns were non-stop. People screamed and yelled.

While people tried to breathe.

We wanted to feed people today.

All appointments for food pick-up were cancelled, because our clients couldn’t get to our parking lot.

We locked our doors and waited while helicopters flew overhead. We couldn’t get out of our parking lot.

We saw and heard the cars, trucks, signs, horns, hate, scorn…

Doctors and nurses have a hard job. Their job was made harder today.

Tonight, families will not have the food they thought they would have.

People struggling with life’s difficulties will not have dinner. Or breakfast.

Children.

Because the followers of the most ignorant and dangerous President in our history acted ignorantly and dangerously today.

They were cruel, ugly, mocking, and scornful today.

A day when we just wanted to feed people.

Maundy Thursday in August

It was a hot, sticky day. August can be that way.

He had returned home from the hospital and was resting in his favorite chair, staring at the water outside.

Water was a soothing passion of his. Sailing, swimming, skiing, skipping stones.

He and his brother built their own boat as kids. It floated. I knew this story. He liked to tell stories.

But now, he rested. A misdiagnosis of prostate cancer was finally diagnosed. Too late.

I went for a visit. To have a chat. To stare at the water with him.

I looked around the room and saw his hospital “gift basket.” All the things that had been in his sterile, unimaginative, utilitarian room.  

A small kidney-shaped dish that held a generic toothbrush and toothpaste.

A clear, plastic urinal.

A cup with a sippy straw.

Socks with skid-proof soles.

A plastic, lidless box which had held his keys and wallet in the small cupboard next to his bed.

A stuffed toy meant to give comfort.

And a large, blue, plastic bin which held all these treasures.

I emptied out the bin, and on a whim (my unfortunate default position), I quietly filled the blue bin with warm water and a squirt of liquid soap. Bubbles. I dropped a bar of soap into the water.

I tried not to spill as I walked to his chair. I spilled a little.

Then I sat down at his feet, and he opened his eyes.

"I thought you might like a pedicure," I smiled. Blue eyes looked into blue eyes.

“Well, that's nice. I’ve never had one,” he said quietly.

I removed his slippers and gently put each foot into the tub.

He smiled.

He stared out at the water as I soaped up my hands and took his right foot. I held his heel in the palm of my hand and washed the sole of his foot, the top of his foot, in between each toe.

I held his left foot and repeated the process.

It was sweetly intimate.

I took out some nail clippers and did a job I knew he couldn’t do anymore.

I let his pedicured feet rest in the bubbly water as his eyes closed. Naptime.

The next day it was time for me to leave. I had a plane to catch. A flight from Florida back to Michigan. The days had gone quickly.

Even though he was weak and unable to stand by himself, he insisted on riding along to the airport. His brother helped him get into the car. We drove in silence.

When we got to the airport.  I leaned forward and kissed his gray head from the backseat. “I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

I got out of the car and saw him struggle to open his door.

“No, you don’t need to get out, I’m going in right there.” I pointed to the large sliding glass doors leading to the terminal.

He used all the energy he could muster (his great default position) and finally stood against the car. His arms (they used to be so strong) wrapped themselves around me and he leaned in.

“Thank you for washing my feet,” he whispered.

Watery blue eyes looked into watery blue eyes.

“You’re welcome, Dad.”

And that was Maundy Thursday in August 2001.

Boxes

Boxes

More than twenty boxes wait to be filled. Twenty families will come for food. Families of one and two. Families of three. Families of four. Families of five, six, and seven.

The larger the family, the more boxes they receive. We start with beans. Then more canned goods, pasta, rice, peanut butter and jelly. Bread, baking mix, mac and cheese, ramen, oil, nuts, cereal, snacks. Milk, produce, meat. Boxes stuffed with food. 

Twenty families. But we only have eight rolls of toilet paper. We only have twelve bars of soap.

Who gets a roll of toilet paper? Who gets a bar of soap? They can’t come back for a month. How do we choose?

Which families get what they need today? Which families don’t?

Hospital beds were waiting empty. Now they are full. The patients in the beds need help to breathe. They need medicine. They need doctors and nurses to care for them, even though they are dangerously sick and highly contagious.

Covid-19 is an equal opportunity killer.

The killer is afoot. The killer is on the prowl.

Thousands of patients. But not enough ventilators. Not enough PPE. Not enough of many other needed supplies.

Who gets a ventilator? Which health care workers get the proper PPE? There are not enough beds. There are not enough ventilators. There are not enough masks, gowns, face shields…. There is not enough medicine to induce a coma for the ventilators to be inserted.

Which patients get what they need? Which patients don’t?

We will look back one day and know what went wrong for a country that used to be strong. A country that used to be prepared. A country that was great just a few years ago. We will see each and every word and action, or lack thereof, that allowed an equal opportunity killer to blow through our cities, towns, and country-sides.

The truth will be known.

Until then, I start with beans. I fill boxes. I randomly add toilet paper or soap.

I pray for the people I watch through glass doors as they pick up their food. We can’t help them put food in their cars these days.

They come to us dressed in all their God-ness. We wave. They wave. They are gone.

Doctors and nurses treat their patients. Patients dressed in all their God-ness. They just can’t breathe anymore. Medical personnel do everything they possibly can without enough of what they need to be the healers they are trained to be.

Then they watch through the glass windows as patient after patient dies alone in their bed. They are gone.

Doctors and nurses and first responders are gone, too.  

There are more boxes. The boxes outside the hospitals are filled. There is plenty of death to fill them, there is no shortage. There is not one single empty box. The boxes are stuffed with death.

So, I pray…

God be with the hungry, the poor, the young, the old, the black, the brown, the white, the rich, the lost, the least, the elite, the proud, the confused, the dying.

Fill us like empty boxes. Fill us with you. Fill us with your goodness and your God-ness. May we be some kind of light in a very dark darkness. We are in a scary and unfamiliar place. Fill us with you. Please show yourself to us and through us in acts of kindness and mercy. Fill us with you. We will empty ourselves of your love to those around us and wait for you to fill us again. Amen.

Breath

Breath

Running through the sunny park. Climbing up the ladder to the metal slide

we glide down, one towhead behind the other. Then off we go, my brother and I,

from slide to swings to merry-go-round. Finally, we have to stop.

We laugh and try to catch our breath.

Riding bicycles with my eight-year-old best friend.

Snaking through sidewalks of the university in our town.

It’s a race. She wins.

We laugh and try to catch our breath.

In the pool. Practice, practice. I must swim the entire length under water.

(My self-imposed challenge) It’s a long pool.

Finally, I make it. Unbelievable! I hang on to the rough edge with both hands.

I smile with pride and try to catch my breath.

Is he going to say it? Will tonight be the night the words are spoken?

His eyes look so deeply into mine. I wait.

“I love you,” he says.

I’m surprised to realize I’m holding my breath.  

“Breathe! Pant! Pant!” The nurse doesn’t mean to yell.

But I’m not paying attention. It hurts too much to breathe.

“Breathe!”

I try but can’t. I wait until the contraction is over.

Then I cry and try to catch my breath.

Finally, a tiny voice cries out.

A very first breath of a brand, new life.

I dance. I dance in the seminary chapel. I dance in the sanctuary.

I teach girls to dance. Eight of them.

They dance to hymns and psalms and spiritual songs.

I name them Ruach. Breath of God.

Wordlessly they lift their arms to heaven.

Silently they twirl and link arms and bow down in honor.

When the dance is finished, the sanctuary feels a fresh holiness.

The dancers quietly catch their breath. So does the congregation.

Grandpa can’t breathe. He has congestive heart failure.

He sleeps sitting up in a chair.

He doesn’t talk much, but still smiles.

One day, he doesn’t talk at all. He doesn’t smile.

He breathes his last, labored breath.

He’s been healed into eternal life.

We all try to catch our breath, but tears chase breath away.

Over the years, I walk into hospital rooms.

I walk into nursing homes.

People I love and pastor have oxygen tubes in nostrils.

They have oxygen masks covering half their face.

If they have the energy, they smile with their eyes.

Or cry.

They try so hard to catch their fleeting breath.

I walk into ICU rooms.

Eyes are closed. Hands and feet are still. Machines hum.

Fluorescent green numbers on a small screen flash up, then down, then up again.

A ventilator pumps in a precise and unchanging rhythm. In…out…in…out…

Forced breath. Fake breath. Life-saving breath.

In March 2020, our country waits. We hold our breath.

Something invisible and unmanageable seeks to take our breath away.

It wishes to creep and seep through nostrils, eyes, mouth.

It is the Breath Thief.

It’s enough to take our breath away even before it seizes our communities.

In the midst of confusion and misinformation I choose to do this:

With each breath I will be thankful for the mercies I see around me.

With each breath I will pray for loved ones. I will pray for strangers.

With each breath I will hold on to the God who loves me. The God who loves you.

With each breath I will seek to be a woman of action, not a woman of fear.

With each breath I will take in the reality and prepare for the outcome.

With each breath I will think beyond myself and remember others.

With each breath I will have courage and strive to be kind.

I might even dance, so I can remember how to catch my breath again.

Because I know this certain thing: Each breath is a gift from God. Ruach.

May God’s breath fill your soul with peace and lighten your spirit. Amen.

Ashes to Ashes: A Eulogy for the Republican Party

“Ashes to Ashes”

A Eulogy for the Republican Party

“Ring-a-round the rosie,

A pocket full of posies,

Ashes! Ashes!

We all fall down.

A simple song the children sang,

The Plague, black death, on breath did hang.

Posies in pockets could not protect,

From small red rings announcing death.

From ashes they came, to ashes they fell,

Not fooled by posies, death cast its’ spell.

We watch the trial of a foolish man,

His followers sing while holding hands.

“He'll give us riches, and White shall reign!”

Bigotry seals their decisive shame.

Simple fools hitch to his lies,

Stare at the ground, instead of the skies.  

Democracy, where freedom rings,

Is threatened by fake offerings.

Trump’s betrayal of liberty,

Has wrenched apart what once was “we.”

Now it is hatred between “us” and “them,”

The fire fueled by Republicans.

"Cage brown children! Attack human rights!

Trod down the poor! Keep this nation White!"

Beware, oh leaders of the land,

Democracy will surely stand!

This cruel circle you refuse to break,

And reject to honor the oath you take.

Not a bit impartial, and gravely unfair,

Ignore all evidence, slumber in chairs.

Your false king daily spreads his plague,

Your arrogance is badly played.

Republicans take hands and sing,

A foolish song of rosie ring.

Your party’s demise is your sure fate,

No pocket posies at your waist.

And even if there might have been,

Ashes to Ashes, your song’s end.  

Ashes, Ashes, you all fall down.

No fake king, no fake crown.

Lady Liberty with hand held high,

Will shed her light on this darkest sky.

Then all the children will rise and sing,

With joy at the final reckoning.

Children welcomed from every land,

To be cherished and held by gentle hands.

No more cruelty, harm, or hate,

New songs of life for them await.

This sad eulogy should not be,

But Republicans, this seems your plea.

Unless you step from dark to light,

“We all fall down!” Your certain plight.

"Intentions" For the Women #HarveyWeinstein

#HarveyWeinstein

Intentions

When she says, “Me too.” When she says, “You know me.”

My intention is to sit, listen, acknowledge, and support her.

When she says nothing, but her tears tell the story,

My intention is to let the story be told, then validate her truth so she can catch her breath.

When she says, “He did these things.”

My intention is to believe her and share her pain.

When she says, “He tried to silence my voice, steal my identity, erase my name, and destroy my soul…”

My intention is to remind her of her humanity. My intention is to remind her of her powerful voice. My intention is to remind her of her strength.

When he (whoever he may be) thinks he can trample her being and steal her voice,

My intention is to join with all the voices who condemn him for his brazen cruelty.

When he (whoever he may be) attacks, beats, and abuses women for decades and somehow evades justice,

My intention is to encourage the women who finally have their say.

When he (whoever he may be) says, “It was her fault. She wanted it.”

My intention is to be enraged, and then work to highlight her brave honesty.

Whether he is a movie mogul, a president, a man of power, or the guy down the street,

My intention is to condemn his lies, his ruthlessness, and his brutality.

When he goes to prison,

My intention is to lift my eyes with hers and feel the streams of justice flow down.

And tomorrow, when he (whoever he may be) is made known for his brand of cruelty,

My intention is to continue the fight with her.

     

A Prayer for the New Year - 2020

January 2020 – A Prayer for the New Year

Holy One,

Our calendars have turned to a new year. Our earthly way of telling time is not your way. But you know this.

There is much to thank you for, and there are concerns to voice.

(The latter first.)

Our human history shows us the world has always been in turmoil, different times and different places. But we are living in it now and see turmoil night and day before our eyes as we gaze at screens of every kind. Some of us witness turmoil firsthand, no screens needed.

Fires are raging, waters are rising, plants and animals are facing extinction, wars are commencing, human beings are violated and tortured.

Your creation groans.

Your creation weeps desperate tears.

Where are you, Holy One? Have you forsaken your creation? Or have we pushed you so far away you cannot dwell with us any longer?

Those are the wrong questions. We don’t have the power to move you or chase you away. We only have the power to step away from you and your goodness. We have the power to try to ignore you.

So, please forgive us when goodness and kindness aren’t our first reactions.

Forgive us when we carelessly and even purposefully destroy your creation with our pollution and filth.

Forgive us for changing the climate of this earth with our reckless behavior.

Forgive us for causing the extinction of plants and animals through our self-centeredness, thoughtlessness, and cruelty.

Forgive us for ignoring your commands to love one another, to love our neighbors, to respect and accept strangers, to feed the hungry, to give water to the thirsty, to clothe the naked, to visit those who are sick and imprisoned.  

Forgive us for allowing cruel and selfish leaders to make destructive decisions that cause your creation to unravel itself.

Forgive all of us who think money is more important than the lives and well-being of others.

I lift my fist toward heaven in anger, yes furious anger, for how refugees are treated in my country, and in every country where people in desperate need ask for help because they have been displaced, threatened by violence, and are homeless.

I lift my fist toward heaven in anger because you can handle it.

You, Holy One, never intended your creatures to torture one another.

I will not ask you to bless the refugees. To bless them sounds passive. To bless them sounds trite. To bless them means nothing.

In this brand, new year, Holy One, I lift my fist toward heaven and shout: Release the captives! Reunite the families who have been wrenched apart. Wipe away the tears as only you can do. Heal the bodies, minds, and souls.

Give us the open hearts to carry out your healing and redemption to those who suffer.

You have cast a vision for us. One where weapons will be no more. Ploughshares and pruning hooks will be made from our guns. On your Holy Mountain there will be no weapons of any kind. There will be no killing. Beasts, wild and tame, will nibble on hay together. Children will be safe. No one who hurts another will be on your Holy Mountain.

(Now for the former)

Thank you.

Thank you, Holy One, for casting a vision of how we can bring more holiness to this unholy world.

Thank you for showing us how to live in peace with one another.

Thank you for reminding us to love, because you loved us first.

Thank you for giving us the means to feed all who hunger. Because we have more food than we know what to do with, we just aren’t wise in our decisions of how to share.

Thank you for those leaders of nations who have honor, integrity, and selflessness to serve their people, instead of using people to serve themselves.

Thank you for having a plan bigger than we can imagine. Thank you for calling us to be voices in the wilderness preparing the way and making the paths straight. Thank you for giving us good work to do so that we don’t get stuck thinking about ourselves for too long or too often.

Thank you for creating us in your image. Every single one of us.

Thank you for accepting our anger, our tears, our despair, our sin, or our refusal to believe in you anymore.

Thank you for never turning your back on our ugly behavior.

Please, Holy One, heal your world. Heal all of creation. Heal our broken natures. Heal our broken hearts. Bind us up and bind us together.

In this human year of 2020, may peace finally return. May love abound. May forgiveness reign. May evil be quelled. May we see you in those who are trodden down, and may we lift them up in the name of your Holiness.

Amen.