Jane Sanders: Give Yourself Some Grace
Being Together While We’re Apart
Because we all miss our Fondren family, here are our Sequester Stories—a series of stories and photos by Fondren folks sharing what our “pandemic lives” are about.
Jane Sanders and friend
The Sequester Stories thus far have been a delightful display of the talents and ingenuity of the Fondren congregation. They have been true Time and Talent reports.
This is not one of those. My Sequester Story is for the rest of us.
For a long time, I have had taped to my refrigerator a prayer entitled “I Need to be Still.” Some of the first lines are as follows:
“Eternal God, Help me to be still for a few moments. Of all things hard, stillness seems to be hardest for me. My life is filled with clanging and clattering. Help me to be still for awhile. Let me look inward and meet you in the deep places of my heart.”
Like the eternal unkept New Year’s Resolution, I would read the prayer and vow to do better; and then go back to being “the busiest retired person I know,” as one friend described me.
When the shutdown came in March, I thought, Okay, here’s that time of stillness you’ve been wanting. Now to get some things done here at home. The To-Do list was lengthy—and none of it got done.
I found I couldn’t concentrate or focus on anything for very long. I lived in a state of distraction. I drifted from one incomplete task to another. I was restless. I struggled with irrational guilt that I was not doing something of consequence medically, and relief that I was not on the front line. Knowing my medical skills would be no help in this situation, I could help best by staying out of the way.
Time is an interesting perception. Days drag by but suddenly a month is gone, then two. Everything you had planned is canceled. You rely on your cell phone to tell you what the day and date is. It’s like being stuck in an unfunny version of Groundhog Day.
Chirpy people on various media give you advice on how to stay occupied, what to cook, how to stay fit at home. You start to wonder if 11 AM is too early for a glass of wine.
Now four months in it still seems like the nightmare with no end, but I have reached a certain level of detente with both myself and the situation. I still don’t like the confinement. The cloister life is not for me, but I have accepted that this season of dislocation will be with us for a while.
I have no desire either to write or read War and Peace during this time. I am not going to binge-watch six years of Downton Abbey. I find my satisfaction in smaller things. Here are some small pleasures that keep me grounded:
Texting with Jane Welch at the Orchard. She never fails to put a smile on my face.
Weekly group texts with childhood friends from Waynesboro. Our April reunion was canceled but we stay connected.
Talking with far-flung cousins ranging in age from 11 to 92.
Listening to CDs I’d forgotten I had.
Reading what I want whether it is of “worth” or not.
Discovering the world of Podcasts.
Drinking lemon chamomile tea from my William Black Lodge mug and thinking of the special Montreat friends I missed this year, but hopefully not next.
Completing that jigsaw puzzle I started 15 years ago with a friend now gone.
The soft but persistent paw pat from a cat wanting attention.
Walking the neighborhood, meeting people I didn’t know and every dog within a mile radius of my house.
Discovering what other creatures share my yard.
I still get angry at times, angry at those who are too selfish to put on a mask and help end this plague. Angry at inept leadership. Angry that I am forced to spend precious days of my life separated from the people and activities I love, including my church.
I have also spent a number of hours the last four months listening to Doctor Radio (Sirius XM) which is broadcast from the lobby of the NYU Langone Medical Center in New York City. I listened as the doctors described the tsunami of COVID-19 cases overwhelming their hospital day after day and wept with them as they broke down on air describing the deaths of both patients and colleagues. But anguish has also brought knowledge which will save other lives.
Recently I heard something from one of those battle-scarred doctors that was a real gift. He said, “Give yourself some grace. It’s all right to feel overwhelmed. This is hard! We aren’t supposed to be okay.”
Wisdom from someone who has walked through hell and brought hope out with him.
So to those of you who think you have accomplished little; those who still have clutter in your homes, dusty furniture, weeds in your flower beds, and a stack of unread books shorter by only one or two:
GIVE YOURSELF SOME GRACE.
And give some to the rest of us also.
We are on a long, strange journey together, but I can’t think of better companions to have.