Quarantine #3 - Re-exposed

Quarantine #1 for me started on March 13.  I hadn't been feeling great the day before but was scheduled to do an Interment.  I stayed far from the family and left quickly.  Though I was supposed to head on to SpiritWorks, I called in and said I needed to go home and rest.  For the next 17 days I didn't leave my house except to go to the mailbox a couple of times and once to feed the birds.  People have asked me if that was hard.  No.  I felt so ill that staying in for 17 days was a relief.  Though I knew I had COVID because others close to me tested positive, I didn't even have the energy to go get tested.  I laid on the couch and endured.  

Quarantine #2 started on April 20.  After two weeks back at work and trying to resume a relatively normal (though mostly from home) work schedule, I had relapsed with extreme fatigue and shortness of breath.  My bishop put me on medical leave, and I finally got tested.  From the moment I returned home from the Urgent Care, I remained quarantined for 14 more days.  I had fewer symptoms, but the fatigue continued to be debilitating, and again I was grateful for the respite.  Who knew just driving ten minutes to the church could be so exhausting?  Talking on the phone was a chore.  I attended Zoom meetings by lying on my couch with my computer on my belly.

As I saw all the posts of frustrated friends who had cleaned every closet, put together multiple puzzles, redone parts of their homes, or volunteered to help frontline workers or neighbors in need, I felt envious of their energy and activity.  I wanted to clean something, but just taking a shower wiped me out.  

Now I'm on day 3 of Quarantine #3 due to re-exposure. Fortunately, it seems unlikely that I have re-contracted the virus, and my fatigue a couple of days ago is the familiar long-Covid version, not some new symptom.  Although I've had to cancel some things that were important this week, none were urgent, and I'm well enough now that I've been able to use the time.  I am finally able to walk a mile - the exact length of the loop my new home is on, and some days, my heart rate doesn't spike!  I've been doing some writing and have had multiple lengthy Zoom meetings ranging from vestry to Mission and Outreach to our Sacred Ground Dialogue Circle on Race and Faith.  I've read grants on my front porch, eaten lunch on my front porch, and done reading for work on the front porch.  

Every time I facilitate a group, we open with highs and lows.  I had thought my low this week was being re-exposed and having to quarantine again.  It turns out, though, that I've gotten more done and still been able to rest when needed, and of course the dogs and cats are delighted!  Most importantly I'm so glad I voted early.

I certainly hope that we will soon create a safe vaccine that works.  And that we are able to eliminate this virus and stop it from causing death and destruction.  In the meantime, I'm grateful beyond words to have some beautiful fall days where I can work from my porch, take walks, and continue to heal.  Maybe this time, I'll get Quarantine right, and I won't be sent back to do it again!

Morning Prayer - Finding the Way

Church happened at St. Stephen's today because the rector can walk from his house.  He told me not to come, though, and I was fine with that.  I'm from south of Atlanta.  I am a southerner.  I do not know how to drive in the snow.  Three years in Chicago didn't teach me because the roads are plowed there, so I still didn't learn how.  When they tell me to stay off the roads, I obey.  I don't want to be a hazard.  So many people online reported reading Morning Prayer in place of going to church this morning, so I joined in.  Sitting snug in my house with the welcome sunlight streaming in. I prayed through the office, read a bit of Diana Butler Bass' Grounded, and then headed out for outdoor worship in the Creation. 

It was almost too bright to see, but I didn't want to head back in for sunglasses.  I walked around my house and then headed out into the neighborhood.  There is a pond in the back of the Mews, and I wanted to see if it was frozen.  Half way.  I was making new tracks on the path that goes around the pond - though I felt a little guilty at disturbing the smooth blanket of white.  I was surprised at how few people were out and how few birds I saw.  It looked like someone had been out walking a dog on parts of the path, but other than that, I was the pioneer.  The surface of the snow glittered in the sun, and ice cracked under my feet as I went.  Sometimes I was light enough not to break through the layer of ice, but in other places I crashed through, and my boots sunk inches deeper into slush.  Snow, sleet, freezing rain, rain, sleet, snow.  That's what had happened in the past 48 hours, and I could feel each of the layers as I walked.

When I got to the front of my neighborhood, I decided to head for the labyrinth.  Again I was surprised that no one had been out on the sidewalk I take to Eastern State Hospital.  With the sun reflecting off the snow and the wind at my back, it wasn't long before I pulled my hood down, unzipped my coat, and removed my gloves.  Though it was only 27 degrees, I was hot!  The road was reasonably clear, though slushy at intersections.  On the hospital grounds the road was wet with no slush at all.  Someone had plowed well.

The labyrinth looked very different than it had when I was there at the beginning of the storm.  I could barely see the path at all. Animal tracks cris-crossed diagonally over sections of the labyrinth.  I thought maybe they were from deer, but closer inspection looked more like paw than hoof tracks.  Dog?  Raccoon?  Fox?  I have no idea.  Whoever it was didn't feel a need to stay on the path but scampered across to the other side.  I wasn't sure if I wanted to step out onto the smooth surface, but once I was there, I couldn't resist. 

With the first step I heard the ice under my feet.  I was surprised that my boots didn't sink any further into the snow but there seemed to be a thick layer of ice that cracked with almost every step on my way to the center.  Felt kind of like walking across a frozen lake, only fortunately I didn't fall in.  After the first turn, I froze.  I couldn't see the path, and I didn't know where to go.  I took a guess, but I found myself stopping regularly on the way.  When I looked at the labyrinth facing north, I could just distinguish the path, but when I looked into the sun, I couldn't see any markings in the snow.  If I hadn't walked that labyrinth so many times, I wouldn't have stood a chance.  I guess that's why they call it a spiritual practice.  By doing it over and over, we learn the way.

Still, there were many times when I had to stop and observe for awhile.  At one point I felt like I could hear Obi Wan saying, "Use the force, Luke!"  It was very different to be forging a new path and having trouble finding the way when usually a labyrinth is so clear.  It would have been very easy to get lost.  At one point the snow was so smooth that I went a little too far and walked up on top of one of the bricks, but I realized my mistake and turned back to the path.  When I got to the center I breathed a sigh of relief.  I had made it all the way in without having to backtrack.  I turned slowly in the center, feeling a pull to the west.  "I am going to the west..."  The haunting notes of one of the songs from my Faire Celts CD ran through my head.  It was hard to look south because the sun was so bright. When I turned east, I said a prayer of blessing over the Eastern State buildings, as I often do. 
 
Heading back out, I walked in my own footsteps.  Much easier to find the way.  No cracking of the ice this direction, though.  Instead, stepping in my boot tracks, I went much deeper into the snow, often down into wet slushiness.  I guess the sun was melting the places where I had walked. It was a much faster trip out since I no longer had to pause at each turn and discern the way forward.  I smiled at the end.  I did it!  If anyone else wants to walk it in the snow, they will know the way now.  These footsteps will not disappear as quickly as the last, though in time the snow will melt and the concrete and paving bricks will emerge once more.

Friday's walk was about letting go.  Today's walk was about new beginnings.  Forging a path.  Finding a way.  We don't always know which direction to turn, but we wait and watch and listen, asking God to point us forward.  Sometimes we just stand for a bit, being faithful, until the way gets clear or until we take that step and see - is this the way?  We may need to double back or retrace steps, but we will eventually find the way.  It can be slow going, and it's hard not to panic when you cannot see the way, even harder to step out in faith when you're not certain, but each step leads you closer to the center until you find yourself resting in the presence of God.

Rainbows and Labyrinths - Advent Hope

God is so good.  I find this time of year hard, when the days are so short.  I thrive in the warm sun.  Ever since Advent last year I have also been struggling with some anxiety/depression that is made worse every time I turn on the news and every time I scroll through Facebook.  I despair of there being any wisdom or love in the world when I see over and over how badly we human beings treat each other.  And I find that even my to-do list can be overwhelming some days.  It has been recommended to me that when I feel one of these anxious "episodes" coming on that I get outside and walk.  When I complained to my therapist one day last January that I couldn't take a walk because it might rain, he said, "The worst thing that will happen is that you get wet."  I didn't appreciate the comment at the time, but I've come to see his point.

Today was one of those days when I was too whiny to walk.  It was chilly and so overcast that it felt like twilight inside my house all day.  I had run errands and done some house chores and was starting to move around the house aimlessly while craving sugar.  I kept telling myself that I needed to go out and walk.  When I went out for the mail, it had started to rain, and I just couldn't bring myself to be out in it.  At about 4:20 I looked outside and saw a glimmer of sunlight.  Just go, I told myself.

Out I went, bundled up, Ipod in pocket, hood up, scarf wrapped warmly around my neck.  As I walked out of my neighborhood, I could hear the sound of raindrops hitting my hood.  The air smelled of wet leaves and smoke from a wood fire.  As I turned the corner out of my neighborhood, I looked over the trees to the east and saw a rainbow.  I started laughing with delight.  "Thanks God!" I said out loud.  I took out my phone to take a few pictures.  The further I went, the brighter the rainbow got.  It lasted all the way until I got to the labyrinth.  I kept turning to look at it.  For awhile there was a double rainbow.  The bow went from horizon to horizon, arcing across the sky as the sun sank down. 

When I got to the labyrinth, I could see the sun setting in the west and the rainbow in the east.  Raindrops continued to fall on my head.  I've never walked the labyrinth when there was a rainbow before.  I walked on behalf of Presiding Bishop Michael Curry who is in the hospital with a subdural hematoma today.  I also walked for a young friend who is having a challenging experience today and for Randy, my old theatre colleague, who lost someone dear to him.  I walked for those killed in San Bernadino and for those struggling in Chicago.  I prayed for all who are in the darkness.  In the center, I offered a blessing to Eastern State Hospital as I often do.  Peace.  Healing.  Wholeness.  Compassion and patience for the caregivers.  Bless this place as a place of healing.

I know I'm an idealist and probably naive.  But the good news of the Gospel tells me that God's going to win in the end.  The rainbow is the symbol of God's promise to us.  Whenever I see one I'm filled with hope.  I don't believe I've seen one in Advent before.  It was such a wonderful reminder to me not to give in to despair.  It may suck right now in many ways.  But that is not the end.  There is always hope.  Thanks, God.

Walkin' in a Wintry Labyrinth

About a month ago I decided to take on the practice of walking the labyrinth at least once a week.  So far I have been faithful and have even managed to do it twice on most weeks.  It helps that there is a labyrinth about 5 minutes from my house over on the campus of Eastern State Mental Hospital.  A couple of weeks ago on a day that was particularly sad for me, my therapist strongly encouraged me to get outside and walk.  Though rain was expected he told me that the worst thing that could happen was that I would get wet.  He sad it was good if it was cold and windy because it would help me remember that I am robust and will not melt with a little rain or disappear with a little wind.  His encouragement led me to start walking from my house to the labyrinth.  On the way over and back, I get good exercise, and while I'm there I get to walk the labyrinth.  I have grown particularly fond of doing this at sunset.  And I have not let wind or rain or cold stop me.

Yesterday it occurred to me that it might be cool to see the labyrinth in the snow, though I was afraid that the snow might have obscured the path.  So I drove over and found that the snow was raised just enough over the brick outline that the path was visible.  I didn't have time to stop and walk, but I decided that I would come back tonight at sunset.  It was 18 degrees, dropping tonight to 9.  I tried to park my car in my usual spot right next to the labyrinth, but I realized the snow was deeper than I had thought and that I would probably get stuck.  So I drove a little distance and found a parking space that had been plowed.  I was bundled in many layers, and I pulled the hood of my down coat up over my head and put on my gloves as I got out of the car.

My therapist's challenge has led me to taking walks in 20 degrees, trying to befriend winter instead of huddling miserably inside waiting for spring.  Most of the time I have found that walking briskly warms me up and under my layers I even start sweating.  Not tonight.  Even with my hiking boots and two pairs of socks, my feet got cold quickly. There was a layer of snow over ice, so with each step the ground felt like it was cracking under my weight.  I was not the first person who had been there, but the previous tracks were old and had been covered by fresh snow.  Crunch, crack, crunch, I went around and around.  Sometimes it was hard to see the path, but mostly I could find it.  I kept thinking about how I always find it difficult to feel close to God in the winter.  It's so easy in the spring with new life bursting out all over, but in the winter I just feel depressed.  I asked God to be with me in the cold, but mostly I concentrated on the sound of the crunching under my feet.

As I made a turn I noticed that the sinking sun had begun to illuminate portions of the labyrinth.  It was magical.  I laughed out loud with delight and immediately grabbed my phone to try to capture the moment.  Such beauty.  The snow sparkled and glittered, and the setting sun cast a glow that started out golden and then turned rosy.  I kept walking until I got to the center where I turned to face the setting sun.  I sang the first verse of "In the Bleak Midwinter" but couldn't remember all the words.  It was so very cold; my breath steamed through the purple fleece scarf that covered my mouth.  It was so very lovely, snow and path and light.  By the time I left the center, after having turned to each of the four directions, the sun's glow had left the labyrinth.  No more magic light.  My feet were really starting to hurt with the cold.  I thought about the people who have to stay outside tonight and said a prayer that they might find warmth.  It took me over an hour to warm up once I got back home.  I can't imagine having to stay out in that all night.

I am so grateful for the walk tonight.  I have walked labyrinths all over the country, but I've never walked one in the snow.  It was a gift of winter.  Seems like I've had a few of those this year as I try to embrace this season that has for so long been my nemesis.  Normally this time of year I just feel small and huddled, but the picture I took below shows a very tall me.  Brené Brown has a mantra, "Show up and let myself be seen."  I'm trying to learn to do just that. 

Tree Stump Garden Update

Back in March I wrote in my post, Redeem, about the tree stump garden that I pass when I walk.  Well, last Saturday I was walking  the 2.7 mile loop and as I got closer to the tree stump, I saw two young men and an older woman standing near the stump.  It was the lady who tends the stump garden!  I was so excited finally to meet her.  I stopped, took off my head phones and asked, "Are you the one who plants these?"  She said yes and I said, "Thank you.  Whenever I pass them they bring me joy.  I've even written a blog post about them."  She was taken by surprise, not realizing the impact that her bit of gardening has had on passersby.  Clearly the two young men had also stopped to talk to her about the little garden. 

Sometimes I read the word "fangirl" on Facebook, and I guess I had a little fangirl moment.  I didn't think to ask for her name or to take her picture with the plants, but I was so grateful that I had finally had the opportunity to thank her for the seeds of joy that she has planted.  The week of Easter there were even little Easter eggs attached to the plants.  Each time I pass it there is something new, and it never fails to bring a smile to my face and a sense of delight to my day.  Yesterday I snapped a quick picture of the little garden thriving in the stump of the dead tree.  Is that resurrection or what?

Winter's Parting Gift

I hate winter.  I have always hated winter.  Ever since I was a little girl, I have dreaded the shortening of the days and the beginning of the cold.  What I really hate is being cold!  Sometimes the chill gets into my bones and I can't get warm.  And then there's the depression that comes when I can't be outside and the days are overcast and everything feels gloomy and bleak. 

A couple of years ago I decided to fight the winter blues in a few ways.  One is with a happy light that I start sitting with in September.  Another is my miracle vitamin drink that helps lift my energy.  And finally I have been trying to find the good things about winter.  Instead of feeling sad because the brightly colored leaves are falling off the trees and won't return until spring, I feel grateful that it's easier to see the sky.  The sun also shines through my windows in the winter time and casts a golden glow that tree leaves block in the summer.  I wear my big sweaters and sweatshirts and bundle up in flannel.  I rejoice that my kitties will sit in my lap, even though its not because they really want to cuddle but because they are cold.  All these are things I can be grateful for in winter, and they have helped me change my attitude a bit.

Until this year.  The winter that wouldn't let go.  Tuesday was the last straw.  After canceling my student group at CNU on multiple Tuesday nights, I was determined to go down even though it was quite frightening to drive through the blinding snow on I-64 to Newport News.  Just two days before I had been picking up cigarette butts in 70 degree weather and short sleeves, and now there was a dusting of snow on the ground.  Argh!!  I wanted to scream.  I wanted someone to blame. 

Something happened, though, as I sat in our group learning about praying with icons.  Big, fat, fluffy flakes drifted down outside the windows of the CNU chapel as we listened to chanting and gazed at icons in candlelight.  We were warm and cozy and the snow wasn't hurting us.  And though the drive home was stressful as the precipitation changed from rain to freezing rain to wintry mix and back to snow, by the time I got home, the most beautiful snowflakes were falling.  I got out of my car and walked to the mailbox.  The fat, wet flakes swirled and blew, landing in my hair and on my scarf.  As the light of the streetlamps reflected off the dancing flakes, I felt like I was walking in a snow globe.  It was the prettiest snow of the year.  I stayed outside for awhile, watching it swirl and blow, feeling the cold wet flakes on my face, smiling with delight.  I hate winter, but I've always love to watch snow fall.  And with all the snow we've had this year, it's either been late at night or when I was inside and couldn't watch. 

Thanks, winter, for giving me a walk in the snow globe.  If it's all the same to you, I hope that it will be your last gift this year.

Redeem

I love to walk.  One of the chief features I looked for when buying a house in Williamsburg was a good place to walk.  In Norfolk I used to walk beside the Lafayette River and in Chicago I enjoyed walking beside Lake Michigan.  The walk I take in Williamsburg is closer to traffic than I would prefer, but there are also lots of trees, trees that I love and that I watch change from season to season, trees that mark the route and serve as companions on the way.  A couple of years ago I saw a crew taking down one big, beautiful old tree - I think it was some kind of an oak.  I felt so sad to see it go.  Maybe it was sick or had been struck by lightening.  I will never know.

At any rate, time passed, and as I kept walking the same route, I noticed that someone had begun planting flowers in the stump of the tree.  What had been a sad, dead, lonely old stump  had become a source of life and color.  I broke out in a smile of delight at such an unexpected gift.  Someone tends the stump flowers all summer, and by July you can hardly tell that there is a stump there underneath the vibrant plants and flowers.  Reminds me a bit of the Shel Silverstein book, The Giving Tree.  A few days ago, I was finally able to get out and walk after this long winter of snow and cold, and there was new life once again growing out of the stump. Pansies and the leaves of the daffodils that are yet to come.  I couldn't resist taking a quick picture.  There is another stump not far away; its tree was felled by one of the hurricanes.  Someone has begun planting flowers in it as well.

Redemption.  For me, those tenderly nurtured plantings have redeemed the loss of the tree.  Where once there is death, now there is life.  Spring is the same for me - it redeems the long, cold days of winter.  So many times when I am faced with questions of why God causes things to happen, I simply have no answer.  I'm not sure if God caused the tree to get sick and die so that it would need to be cut down.  I'm not sure that God decided the hurricane would take out certain trees.  What I am sure of is that God redeems things.  I have seen it again and again.  The resurrection redeeming the cross.  New life redeeming death.  Hope and joy returning where there had once been despair and pain.  Over and over I have watched God redeem things that I never thought possible.  I believe that God can and will redeem everything - though I will most likely not be around to see it happen.  That's the hard part.  I want it all to be redeemed right now.

PlanetRecovery wants to be part of the redeeming process.  Redeeming time and missed opportunities that have been lost to the disease of addiction.  Redeeming lives.  We want to help people find hope and health and restore that to the earth as well.  Last summer when visiting Maine, I saw a sign for a Redemption Center.  I thought it was some kind of church.  Ha!  The joke was on me.  It's a center for recycling.  Redeeming that which is seen to be trash.  Have you heard the phrase, "God didn't make no junk"?  I believe it's true.  No human life is trash.  Nothing is lost.  God will redeem it all.  Just like the flowers in the tree stump.  I wonder how many ways we can find to participate in the redeeming process.  I imagine the number is limitless.