Humor

So I’ve just sorted through several small baskets of toiletries stashed on bathroom shelves and under the sink searching for any hand sanitizer I might have squirreled away. I didn’t find any, but if you’re in need of any dried up, odd shades of lipstick, I’m your girl!

One thing we all have in common right now, other than searching for hand sanitizer, is how to react to this period of exile. I’ve read perspectives on the coronavirus and its effect on “life as we knew it” from the deeply spiritual to the very humorous. There is no shortage of advice on this serious situation. (Which didn’t stop me from sharing my own, you’re thinking!)

As much as I’ve appreciated and shared all the spiritual insights and guidance (DO read Psalm 91), I’ve noticed that the humor helps, too. One person posted on Facebook, “I have to wonder if all this is happening because I didn’t forward that message to 10 people.” Another post read, “The babies born nine months from now will be known as the Coronial Generation.”

And it seems as if this unprecedented period is bringing out our true personality types. One of the funnier things I read is that when the CDC says for us to avoid large crowds, stay six feet apart, and stay home as much as possible, the introvert thinks, “I’ve waited my whole life for this!” It’s the more extroverted types who may hyperventilate upon hearing that restaurants, gyms, movie theaters, concert venues, amusement parks and churches are all closed.

Yet maybe those most unsettled by this found time are the procrastinators among us. The ones who say at least once a day, “I should (fill in the blank) but I’m too busy.” Hello! Now’s the time. (Unless you are suddenly homeschooling children while working from home. You may just want to stop reading now because you don’t have extra time!)

Yes, each of us has to decide on his or her own how to approach this indefinite pause in life as planned—and how to make the best use of our unexpected down time. That may begin by thinking of it as a gift. With that in mind, let me offer some suggestions for things to do that you may have always wanted to do anyway:
• Call an old friend you haven’t talked to in years and just hang out on the phone.
• Clean like a fiend. Spring cleaning on steroids. Get the family involved.
• Organize photos on the computer or wherever you’ve stashed them.
• Look at gardening catalogs and get a jump on an award-winning garden!
• Have your bored kids wash their hands and write notes or draw pictures to drop off at a cloistered assisted living facility near you.
• If you have the ingredients, make a recipe you haven’t had time to make lately. (I made a banana pudding I haven’t made in 30 years!)
• Tackle that home improvement project! Or just find the paint and touch up the base boards.
• Remember board games, charades, and gin rummy? Even empty nester couples can benefit from shutting off screens and playing games together. And doing so could totally rejuvenate families.
• Go through your bookshelves to find those books you bought because you really wanted to read them and line them up in order of anticipation.
• We can still go outside, so take long walks. Drop surprise items on neighbors’ front porches. Sing from your balcony as they are doing in Italy!
• And to all the serious creative types among us—just do it! Finish the book. Get out the paints and the palette. Stitch the quilt. Slap the clay on the wheel. Create.

Some day in the hopefully not too distant future we will be able to look back on these weeks and see how they bonded us, refocused us on what matters most, and even restored us. Occasionally God allows something into each of our lives that causes us to “unplug” for a while. This feels more like a total power outage. But IF we are blessed to remain in good health, let’s not waste this gift of time by whining over all we can’t do. Let’s get on with what we can. Let’s listen to the still, quiet voice of God saying, “This time will be a gift to you, should you choose to accept it as such.”

I was sitting in my doctor’s office waiting to be called in for a flu shot when I saw them enter: a man about my age and his quite elderly mother. He walked slowly, keeping cadence with her pace. She leaned over her walker and shuffled toward the check-in desk.

“My mom is here for her 11:00 appointment,” said the son, giving his mother’s name.

“Has she been in Africa in the last 21 days?” the receptionist asked in all seriousness.

The man looked over at his fragile mother, then back at the receptionist. “Well, I don’t think so, but I guess I should ask her,” he replied. He turned toward his mother and said in a voice loud enough for her and everyone in the waiting room to hear, “Mom, have you been in Africa in the last 21 days?”

From my perspective I couldn’t see the elderly woman’s face, but I could see her frail shoulders bouncing up and down as she chuckled to herself. “No,” she said, and as she turned to move toward a chair in the waiting room I could see the amusement in her eyes still. What a sweet moment the two of them shared. What unexpected joy was found in what was no doubt an appointment neither particularly wanted to keep. The receptionist was just following office procedure during this recent Ebola scare, and didn’t know she’d brightened the day of everyone within hearing distance in the process—especially the day of the elderly patient.

As soon as the man and his mom had come through the door, my heart had gone out to them. It’s impossible for me to see someone helping an elder they love without remembering such days with my mother-in-law and my mom, both now in heaven. Oh, how I prayed I could get my mom-in-law into Wendy’s for the cheeseburger and Frosty she craved without her falling. She planned morning doctor appointments so we could indulge ourselves at Wendy’s afterwards. I didn’t want her to fall on my watch.

My mom remained fairly mobile until near the end of her life, but I remember how cautiously I drove whenever I had her in the car, and how I insisted she wear her seatbelt—an invention she never appreciated fully.

But there was joy in those times, too. How I wish I could take Mary Frances for a Frosty, or Mom for a ride, one more time.

I was called in for my shot. Leaving the doctor’s office a few minutes later I walked by the chairs where the man and his mother were still waiting. The three of us shared a smile, and the knowledge that loving is always worth the price. Especially on days when a little unexpected joy comes your way.

While in Exile

Joy Is Where You Find It