Abnormal Hope

Last Easter, I wrote about how wonderful it would be when we were free to meet in large groups again. I imagined the hugs in the church lobby, the happy rejoicing. In my never-having-lived through-a-pandemic naivety, I somehow assumed we’d go from complete lock-down to business as usual.

Boy, was I wrong.

I’ve been in church four times now since the doors opened and it’s nothing like I imagined. Registering ahead of time and checking in when I arrive. Chair rows spread apart six feet. Leaving three empty seats between every household. Wearing masks. Using hand sanitizer. No printed programs. No passing of offering plates. Waiting for an usher to dismiss your row, one at a time starting at the back. And definitely no hugging.

The first couple of weeks, I left feeling sad. The third week, I almost didn’t attend. I’m so glad I did. I chatted with my pastor for a few minutes ahead of the service and prayed with someone afterwards. The “new normal” began to feel manageable, the benefits overriding the weirdness.

Those who choose to view the service from home do so for valid reasons, and my aim in this article is not to judge, discourage, or sway you. We are in this together, and kindness must remain our number one rule, whatever choices we make for ourselves and our families. I choose to attend despite the restrictions and the inconveniences. I can think of three reasons why.

First of all, I go to church in case I don’t have the option next week. The rules could change. I or someone near me could test positive. I could become ill and never sit in church again. Every Sunday, there’s a heightened awareness that it could be my last time.

Secondly, I’ve found worshiping together with my church family simply cannot be recreated at home. Seated on my couch, I’m less likely to sing along, perhaps because I hear my own voice too well. I become a spectator. The power in the words we proclaim about who God is and who we are to him multiplies when we worship together. Those truths penetrate my heart and mind, fortifying me for the week ahead, in a way that does not happen from home. (Being spread out actually provides an unexpected benefit: I’m free to move, clap, or raise my hands with no worries about infringing on someone else’s space!)

Thirdly, I do a better job of listening to the message. At home, I’m too easily distracted by my phone, by pedestrians on my street, or by the close proximity to my pantry and fridge. When I’m present at church, I take notes. Whether or not I ever look at those notes again, I retain what I’ve heard more thoroughly. Occasionally those notes end up on this blog, like the great line Pastor Kevin Fawcett gave us last Sunday. He reminded us that Jesus’ disciples faced a whole new normal after he left their physical presence. New challenges, new opposition, new methods. But the same Jesus. And Jesus’ new normal is abnormally good. Abnormally hopeful. (You can find the whole message HERE.)

May you be blessed with abnormal hope today.

 

Unprecedented Conveniences

If I hear the phrase, “In these unprecedented times” once more, I might pitch a fit.

As an author of historical fiction, I spend large portions of my day immersed in the years before my birth. I try my best to get the details correct, researching as I go. When I walk away from my desk and go about other tasks, I’m often thinking about how my characters would complete the same tasks.

One day I hauled beets, carrots, and rhubarb from my garden into the house. By noon, a giant pot of borscht simmered on the stove, a bowl of beets was set aside for supper, with a couple of packages frozen for another day. Greens and stems were washed and refrigerated for use in salads and smoothies. The rhubarb was cooked, the carrots scrubbed and sitting in water in the fridge ready for snacking. I enjoyed my morning’s work but nearly collapsed after the kitchen was all clean again. 

 

I doubt I’d have survived if I’d had to do it the way my grandmother completed those same jobs 80 years ago. First, pumping water from a well and hauling it inside to heat on a wood-burning stove, for which I also had to split and carry the wood. Figuring out how to keep the fire at an even temperature. Canning, because freezing was not an option. Afterwards, heating more water to wash everything by hand and lugging the dirty water outside. Scrubbing the nasty beet stains out of all the dishrags and towels before hanging them on the line. All on a hot summer day with no air conditioning and no shower. 

 

It’s enough to raise my level of respect and admiration for previous generations. How could all that work not build character? I can’t help thinking our ancestors might roll their eyes if they heard us complaining about our difficult lives in these unprecedented times.

 

Will future historians identify a link between our entitlement and how we emerge on the other side of this pandemic? Will they remember us as perseverant, appreciative? Or will we go down in history as the most spoiled, the most consumer-driven generation ever? As people who didn’t possess the character required to overcome adversity? As folks outraged that they should be so inconvenienced by a pandemic?

Global pandemics are not new. The losses so far from Covid-19 are nowhere near unprecedented. Yes, it’s horrible. It’s sad. It’s frightening, it’s stressful, and it’s darn inconvenient. But it is not unprecedented.

That’s why a look at history can restore hope. We enjoy countless advantages over those who experienced pandemics in the past. If anything is unprecedented, it’s our lightning-speed communication, our modern testing methods, and our state-of-the-art medical systems. Don’t believe me? Then answer this: If you must go through a pandemic, would you rather do so in 1420, 1920, or 2020?

Experts tells us most pandemics last between 18 months and two years. Perhaps the better question is not, “how will we survive these times?” but “are we made of the right stuff?” May the precedent set by our forebears empower us, deepen our character, and generate lasting hope in our hearts.

“We know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.” (Romans 5:4)

 

Out of My Mind for Ten Years

In September of 2010, the Portage Daily Graphic/Central Plains Herald Leader advertised for freelance writers. What I really wanted was a regular column. I even had a name: “Out of My Mind.”

In one of my boldest acts of reckless abandon, I called and requested an appointment with then-editor, Elisha Dacey. Seated in her office and trying not to reveal my nerves, I told her I wanted to write a weekly “slice of life” column. Some humour, some faith. Hopefully a little of both sprinkled into each. I gave her three samples.

She hired me.

I’ve lost track of how many editors have come and gone in these ten years, but readers have remained loyal. One of the funniest stories occurred about a year into my column-writing, when I went to vote on Election day. I gave the poll clerk my name.

“Are you the Terrie Todd who writes for the Graphic?” She peered at me over her glasses.

“Yes.”

She frowned a bit. “Huh. I thought you’d be shorter.”

I assured her I would try to sound taller from then on.

Over the years, several (well, okay, maybe two) readers have asked when I was going to put my columns into a book. I figured a ten-year anniversary would be a good time. Trouble is, ten years’ worth of columns would be as thick as a phone book (for those of you old enough to remember phone books.)

Good old Microsoft to the rescue. I created a table in MS Word and listed every column by title, the date it ran, and its theme. Then I gave each a score from zero to five. If a column promoted a local event long past, it received an automatic zero. My personal favourites, and the ones that generated emails or won awards, scored fives.

When all 460 columns were entered, I instructed my computer to pull all the fives to the top and voila! 145 columns, the perfect length for a book. My first column made the cut, as did my farewell column when “Out of My Mind” got cancelled in 2016…as well as the return column when I was invited back fourteen months later. (If you’ve already calculated that ten years of weekly columns would total 520, not 460, the cancellation explains that.)

Once I eliminated the also-rans scoring less than five, I told my computer to sort the winning columns by theme. Then it was a matter of copying and pasting each column into its category and creating a table of contents. Now, readers can easily find stories under a given topic or season.

This book signing will look different.

Then the pandemic complicated things. The book had a bit of a false launch. Now that September is here, the official month of the tenth anniversary, it’s party time. Since Covid-19 is preventing us from serving food, I’ll be giving away a $40 gift certificate from The Cheeky Baker and the winner can place their own order. If you are a local reader, I hope you’ll come celebrate with me, purchase the book for $20—or one for each person on your Christmas list. Or just say hello and enter the draw. Saturday, September 12, between 10:00 and 1:00 at the Portage Regional Library.

I deeply appreciate your kindness and tolerance. A column should offer value to readers and I’ve often fallen short. But if I’ve managed to make you smile or even laugh out loud, if you’ve discovered a tear on your cheek or have thought a new thought, I’m happy.

You’re teaching me the discipline of deadlines, the wonder of word counts, and the extraordinary grace and humour of hometown folk.

Happy Anniversary to us!