Three times in the last week I’ve gotten all the way to the door of a store and had to turn around to get my mask. Baby in tow, I dig out my keys and dig through the center console to find the piece of cotton that is required to enter just about any public place. To say that I’m longing for normal is an understatement.
It’s not just the masks. It’s missing my people. Craving hugs. Longing for smiles. It’s not having to tread lightly wherever I go and with whomever I interact with, as it’s impossible to tell where anyone falls on the spectrum of normalcy and fear of this virus. It’s made even worse now that, just like everything else in the world lately, covid has been incredibly politicized. Should I be worried about where my risk comfort falls in relation to a certain political party? How do I love on my friends without them feeling judged by my mask or lack thereof? Should I invite friends over to carve pumpkins or is that unwise? Normal. That’s not really a word I ever thought would be hard to explain or navigate. Yet, here we are.
I have an almost 7 month old baby boy who has only met a handful of my friends. I have a 5 year old who faithfully, and surprisingly without much complaint, wears a mask to kindergarten every day (Audrey Nole, you are a better human than your mama...). I have missed celebrations for Easter, Birthdays, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, and soon Halloween. My party throwing, hospitality heart is cringing under the weight of covid isolation. My mama heart is carrying a heavy burden too; not having my village is just truly heartbreaking.
Every day, every week, every whenever I have the time/desire, we do things to try and make life feel normal. Today, I took Harry out for a latte and donut. Not because my body needed caffeine, but because my soul needed normal. So we sat at our table, chatted over yogurt melts and squeaks of Sophie le Giraffe, and people watched in the most conspicuous way. It felt like perhaps this world is circling back to wide open. I won’t turn on the news and crush my reality... And just as I sat there feeling thankful for this tiny slice of normal, Harry reached over and knocked my latte all over himself, the diaper bag, the table, and my daggum mask. Oi. Back to reality.
I suppose having a fall scented mask isn’t the worst? But seriously, is anyone else just so ready to be done with 2020, or is it just me? Every time I feel like I’ve wrapped my mind around all the things, coffee spills all over the floor; today, quite literally. I’m thankful that my hope is in Jesus and that that’s enough for every day. Goodness though, it’s been a long time since this earth felt like a happy home. I suppose that’s part of living in this broken world, full of sin: we long for heaven. If nothing else comes of this year, I think an army of believers realizing what it means to long for heaven is probably a pretty good thing. So here’s to all my fellow mamas and daddies and brothers and sisters whose hearts are broken over all that’s been lost in this weird and crazy year... praise the Lord for His hope and his promise of reconciliation and redemption.
