Grief paid an unexpected visit last month. I didn’t want to let it in but like a nosy neighbor it crossed the threshold before I could shut it out.
I never saw it coming.
Lily climbed into the car after school with “a surprise” for me and Abby Kate.
“But mostly for sissy,” she said.
When Abby Kate buckled in 4 miles and 9 minutes later, Lily produced from her backpack their 2019-2020 school yearbooks. Abby Kate squealed with excitement and together they flipped pages, pointing out favorite pictures of themselves and friends.
I was excited to see the book myself when we arrived home, and especially loved that someone submitted a photo from Abby Kate’s trip to Washington, D.C. where she and 3 classmates laid a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown soldier last October.
Then, I noticed the page opposite that D.C. picture.
“We interrupt your regularly scheduled yearbook…” declared an italicized black-and-white banner at the top of the page.
Bullet point text detailed the disruption of COVID-19, beginning with the first report to the WHO in December. The last line is dated March 26, 2020, when Alabama Governor Kay Ivey declared school closed for the year.
I closed the yearbook. I didn’t want to look anymore.
It is right for the timeline to be there. I appreciate the historical context of what happened to the school year. Except we had to live it. We are still living it. And that’s hard.
A text exchange with Abby Kate’s 5th grade teacher turned to lament as we remembered what we lost last year.
“We didn’t get to finish,” her teacher typed. “It’s like that Band-Aid that keeps getting ripped off.”
That is exactly what it’s like. Just when the wound has healed, the Band-Aid comes off and creates a new sting. However short-lived, it still hurts. Inevitably a new cut or scrape or sore must be nursed, and the proverbial Band-Aid removed again. Another sting. Maybe even a scar. One that will never entirely heal.
I thought these weepy sentiments would subside once the new school year started but they remain, lurking in loose ends from last year. I don’t think I will ever revisit the spring of 2020 and not grieve the milestone moments we missed or the carefree and virus-free school days my daughters deserve.
Short of time-travel, which Abby Kate aspires to someday, we can’t reclaim those days. So, we adapt to new normals and accept “indefinitely.” The good news is (Yes! There is good news!) God promises to turn our mourning into joy.
I carried Psalm 30:6 in my English class binder my 10th grade year of high school. I can only imagine what I was weeping over in high school, and will probably be embarrassed if I ever do remember, but the verse clearly resonated because I still carry it 25 years later.
“Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”
2020 kind of feels like a long night, doesn’t it? I’m not a morning person but even I would set an alarm to witness the break of this dawn.
We are eager for the morning.
Weeping. Waiting. Watching.
For Jesus. For joy.
I hesitate to speak joy because I don’t know the depths to which some people must reach to find it or how hard they work to hold on to it. COVID has stolen a lot of things and your joy may be one of them. The virus has, at the very least, complicated our pursuit of happiness.
What are you counting on to restore your joy?
Children returning to school?
Travel restrictions lifting?
Shopping without a mask?
I wish all those things with you with the caution that if we expect those things to make life all better, we are destined for another disappointment.
A popular T-shirt slogan advises “Choose Joy.” If only. Joy is not found in our circumstances but in the presence of Jesus. Maybe the shirt should read “Choose Jesus.”
I struggled to finish this writing and confided in a friend that the words “Choose Jesus” seem insincere. My only defense is that they are not my words. They are His. The book of Psalm is rich with invitation to find fulfillment in God’s presence:
“You reveal the path of life to me; in Your presence is abundant joy; in Your right hand are eternal pleasures.” (Psalm 16:11)
“The Lord is my strength and my shield. My heart trusts in Him and I am helped. Therefore, my heart rejoices and I praise Him with my song.” (Psalm 28:7)
“Taste and see that the Lord is good. How happy is the man who takes refuge in him!” (Psalm 34:8)
And as we return to Psalm 30 and read beyond verse 6, we find hope that God will do for us as he did for David.
“You have turned my lament into dancing; You removed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness so that I can sing to You and not be silent. Lord my God, I will praise you forever.” (Psalm 30:11-12)
Forever. And I might add, even in a pandemic.
The weeping will not end or the sun rise at the same moment for everyone, but I believe it will come for all of us. And unlike the grief I try so hard to shut out, I will welcome the morning joy with my door and arms wide open.
“Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”
(Psalm 30:6)
