I’m mad at you.
I always like the week between Christmas and New Year’s, because it’s a time to reflect, rejoice, and recalibrate before plunging into another spin around the sun.
But this year, I’m finding it hard to reflect. Hard to rejoice. And it feels like there’s a lot to recalibrate.
You threw some mean, below-the-belt punches.
I’m still grieving over the fact that I had to watch my brother get married over Facebook live. I could only hear a whopping five words that the pastor said even with the volume all the way turned up, and I missed all of the before, during and after memory-making that happens with family events. My heart aches because I will never get that moment back. Ever. After I ate a piece of wedding cake that I made in their honor, I went to my room and cried harder than I’ve ever cried since my grandma died. I cried so loud that my roommate heard me – she doesn’t ever hear anything from her room. I still cry whenever I look at pictures. I see all the immense joy and pride and happiness on every single face of my family, and all my heart can choke out is, “I was supposed to be there!” And I wasn’t.
I missed so much MOVEMENT. Walking to work. Walking up and down the stairs at work. Walking backward in front of my class. Running up the stairs from the bathroom before my kids were done with their specials class. Running in Parque Carolina. Or any park. Walking to and from the bus stop. Worshipping at church.
A girl can only walk so many loops through her (admittedly spacious) apartment before losing her ever-loving mind.
I did okay at first with the stress of all the uncertainty and making decisions in the dark, not knowing when things would suddenly change, but then I started falling back on coping habits that I’m not proud of and have been working to replace in my life.
I wanted so badly to stand firm in the Lord and keep a positive attitude and not get down about it all, but I felt so isolated and alone. I really, truly have an easier job following Jesus and being disciplined when I do it with other people. I knew that, but now I know it on a deeper level.
Teaching online is also not my cup of tea. I mean, it’s a new challenge, and I like to rise to a challenge, but giving a Zoom high-five is nowhere near the same as putting my arm around a kiddo I’m proud of or looking them straight in the eye to communicate presence when they let me know that something is hard. Smiling at a camera when they make me laugh just isn’t the same as laughing with them in person. And Lord have mercy, the kids who struggle with organization . . . It would be so much easier to be able to hold the papers and teach them how to organize and stick with tasks. I miss being in person with them and my co-workers. So. very. dagnabbit. much. I haven’t even met one of the teachers on my team who is new to the school this year. How weird is that?
And being quarantined over Christmas break because I was exposed to COVID right before the 25th was not my dream for my vacation.
You brought so much loss to this world. Loss of life, loss of income, loss of normalcy and routine. And this world is grieving. So many are grieving the loss of people, and things, and, well, normal. My family included. We didn’t make it through the year unscathed by the loss of an extended family member.
We like routine. We like predictability. And you, 2020, were not at all predictable.
In February, my friends at church were already talking (and let’s be honest, joking) about COVID-19, and I thought it was ridiculous and brushed it off.
And then March came.
And no one was laughing anymore.
I can’t write you off completely, though. Like most things in life, you brought with you measures of both sorrow and joy, goodness and darkness.
It’s hard to remember back this far, but waaaaay back in January, I was in a really vibrant place in my relationship with the Lord. I was listening to Him regularly and hearing all sorts of reminders of who I am in Christ and encouragement to spread my wings and use my gifts of speaking and writing, to share them with the world. I know this, because my journal has it recorded. My memory is certainly too foggy about pre-COVID months to accurately recall the first few months of the year. Was that really in the same year as this one?
In February, I got to visit a new country. And in that country, I met one of the most beautiful families on this planet. Full of the generous hospitality of the Father. The memories of those brief five days will stay with me a lifetime and have, I hope, changed me for good.
In the spring, I worked through hard conversations and some hard feelings in regard to saying no to new commitments at church and faced the realization that I still haven’t learned how to stop saying yes BEFORE I reach my capacity. And that I want to increase my capacity, but I haven’t figured out how to do that yet.
In June, for the last week of school, I escaped to the coast of Ecuador and experienced my first-ever beach vacation. I got to join the family that has been the closest thing to family for me here. Just thinking about the walks on the beach, the investigation of rocks, and shells, and crabs, and reading in one of the ten hammocks at our hotel makes my shoulders relax a notch. Memories for a lifetime, and a great way to celebrate the 5-year milestone of teaching.
In August, I started a new blog about books and teaching – two of my favorite subjects.
I even finished the rough draft of a book manuscript that God put on my heart to write.
I also can’t neglect to mention the fact that, in September, due to the portability of teaching online, I was able to visit my family and passport country for the longest amount of time in three years. I loved the fact that I got to see my nieces a couple of times a week, and three of my siblings about once a week, for over two months! I got to see my brother and his bride in their new home and talk and dream with them. I got to meet my baby brother’s girlfriend in-person by going with them to get ice cream instead of doing the awkward Skype introduction of “high nice to air quote meet you end air quote.”
I got to see autumn splendor with my own eyes – glorious rioting reds and oranges and browns – and crunch through dry, fallen leaves for the first time in four years.
I got to run with my dad again.
I tried a dating app and went on a few dates.
I got to practice trust as I waited and called and waited and called Passport Services SIX TIMES before they expedited my renewed passport to me. God showed me his faithfulness as I consciously chose to trust Him in a new way.
I became more intentional with calling friends and checking in with them – for their good and for mine.
I realized, with humbling awe, that God has filled my life with so very many people who dearly love me, and I don’t even know why they do. And I dearly love them back – or at least, I try to. How amazing is it that I have a whole swath of friends, family and friends-like-family who I miss so very much when I can’t see them in person!
My family gave me a holiday dinner before I returned to Ecuador and that filled me all the way to Christmas.
My grandma sent me back to Ecuador with a box of Christmas cookies and peanut brittle. I didn’t even get around to baking any of my own this year. And eating those has given me a taste, quite literally, of home. Love really is the secret ingredient, people. Don’t roll your eyes. It’s cliche because it’s true.
And when I got back to Ecuador, oh, my heart. My community here welcomed me with open arms. It brings tears to my eyes to see the brothers and sisters in Christ who have become my family here. I’m so very thankful for them, because without them, I’d be overwhelmed by the feeling of being alone. It’s so dang hard for me to be away from my family, y’all! And they remind me so often that I am not alone here in this faraway land.
So, 2020, I can’t be completely mad at you. There was still goodness. It’s just so . . . muted . . . compared to other years. And thinking of you still hurts. I wish I could say that I suffered well this year with the isolation and the struggle to “stand firm” as the apostles exhort us to do in the New Testament. I wish I could say that I processed my pain in the midst of the year and that I’m emerging victorious this December 31st. But I’m not.
I feel guilty when I hear about others who suffered better and processed their pain. I’m not sure if I grew as much as I was hoping to grow – in so many ways.
I was pretty much just trying to hang on.
But, 2020, as mad as I am at you, and as much as pain fills my heart when I think of this mist-shrouded, Zoom-filled year, I choose gratitude. There is good that can be borne of walking in the dark. I stub my toes and bruise knobby joints more because I bump into things as I find my way. But I know that God brings good from the darkness and the pain.
He’s ever so good at that, you know. So even though you brought a pall of darkness and confusion over our world, 2020, I will choose to thank God for you. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God will, and has already started to, bring good out of this year that we all are so eager to throw aside. And I’m doing my best to cooperate with His restorative work on my bruised heart.
2020, you won’t be easily forgotten. I pray that we all allow God to work his mysterious and awe-inspiring redemption in our brokenness and pain as we move forward into a new year.
With gratitude,
Always Grace 