"Use For Vacation"

“People don’t take trips, trips take people.” 

-John Steinbeck 

While we were missionaries in Austria, many people gave money to support us and our work. One of these wonderful people was my Aunt Sally. When we got pictures of the checks our faithful friends and family had sent, Aunt Sally’s check would have a note on the memo line. “For vacation” she would write, every single month. Seeing this I would smile, say a prayer of thankfulness for Aunt Sally, and go about my business. 

We had been living in Europe for two years when I finally talked my husband into visiting Egypt. I had great reasons why now was the time to go including how close-ish we were. Plus, we wouldn’t just ramble our way through so unfamiliar a locale. We wouldn’t set off alone to explore like we had in Venice or Prague or Paris. We would take a tour. We would be on a bus with other loud Americans, all wearing white socks and telling everyone our life’s story at the drop of a hat. Aside from the bus, our other mode of transportation would be a cruise ship on the Nile, for heaven’s sake. How could Bobby possibly say no to that? 

Turns out he couldn’t. Bobby reluctantly agreed. 

I had always wanted to go to Egypt. The depth of history, the exotic nature of the land, the underlying sense of danger. It seemed romantic and mysterious. 

When I was in elementary school, just starting to pick my own books at the Bradshaw Library, I chose and read a book about King Tut. The book said in the process of readying the boy king’s body for burial, the Egyptians used a hook to pull his brain out of his head through his nose. I mean, who wouldn’t want to visit the land where that happened? 

However, on September 18, 1997, less than one month before our trip, gunmen attacked tourist buses parked outside the Egyptian Museum in Tahrir Square, killing nine. We checked with the American embassy in Vienna who said we should go ahead with our plans. 

So, on October 8 we arrived in Cairo. The trip had been long. We took a train from our home in Baden, Austria to Vienna. There we got on another train which took us to Budapest, Hungary where we got on a brand new 737 operated by Malev, the Hungarian airline. From Hungary, we flew across the Mediterranean Sea in the middle of the night to Cairo. The upside of the odd flight time was the plethora of empty seats. We could each lay down and try to sleep. 

When we arrived in Cairo it was still dark. We were greeted by a shuttle driver sent by the tour company. He helped us load our suitcases into his van, then sped us across the countryside with his lights off, flashing them only to let oncoming traffic know he was there. We were relieved and exhausted when we arrived at our hotel. 

That relief was unfortunately brief. We were soon told we couldn’t check into our room for several hours. I was so disappointed. All I wanted was sleep. While I was preparing to get embarrassingly comfortable on the plush lobby couch and begin snoring, loudly, in hopes of getting us into a room faster, Bobby was cooking up a plan of his own. 

He suggested we take a taxi to the pyramids and hopefully see the sunrise. “What a glorious idea," thought my 25 year old naive self. What an adventure! 

There just happened to be an unoccupied cab in the hotel parking lot and we were able to stow our bags in a secure room off the hotel lobby. The taxi driver assured us he “knew a guy” who could get us in to see the pyramids. 

So, off we went in the pre-dawn Cairo hours, Bobby and I, snug in the back of a very old taxi, bumping down tiny backroads in a nondescript neighborhood. The driver stopped by what appeared to be an open garage. He excused himself and ducked into the house. Minutes later he reemerged with another man who jumped into the passenger seat of the car. “You want to see the pyramids, yes?” he said, amazingly cheery for being woken at such an early hour. We agreed and off we went again. 

A few minutes later we emerged from the streets of the crowded, maze-like neighborhood to face a tall chain link fence enclosing sand as far as we could see. The taxi stopped. Our driver and his friend got out beckoning us to follow. We walked through a hole in the fence and were soon approached by a man in a turban and robe. Our taxi driver’s friend spoke with him and the man turned away, evidently satisfied with whatever explanation was given. 

We made our clumsy way forward, up one of the mountains of sand and there they were. The pyramids. I was awestruck. They were sitting a mile away from us in a sea of sand, the ancient tombs blurry in the haze of the early morning. 

The taxi driver’s friend interrupted our staring and asked if he could take our picture. We happily agreed. Then, thinking he was clever, the friend told me to raise my arm high over my head pretending to hold the point of the Great Pyramid of Giza. I complied, feeling a little silly, but willing. 

Weeks later when we finally developed our film, I was excited to see those “first glimpse of the pyramids” pictures. To our great amusement, the pictures showed that I was standing with my hand hovering above the horizon while the pyramids were over my opposite shoulder. My hair was standing on end and the dress, tights, and flats I was wearing (what was I thinking?!) were all looking crumpled and schmutzy. 

My first thought about my appearance was, “I don’t remember it being windy. But, it must have been. My hair looks crazy.” But, no. Other pictures of us during this early morning jaunt revealed that my hair looked like that the whole time. No wind needed. 

In this state of disarray, we slid down the sand dune where we had been trespassing and climbed back into our taxi. After dropping the friend off at his home, we were delivered back to the hotel where our room was finally ready and we were able to clean up and take a much needed nap. 

The rest of our tour was beautifully choreographed. Our guide was suave, but likable and spoke English like an American. He told jokes and stories and taught us history that was alive and exciting. We visited tombs and markets, gardens and shops. We ate exotic foods in interesting restaurants with spices I had never tasted. We sailed, played games, danced, and bought souvenirs. 

We saw where the Lighthouse of Alexandria once stood and museum displays with artifacts thousands of years old. The tour guide who led us around Alexandria seemed to grow bored of her own tour, walking quickly past museum displays with a wave of her hand and hardly an explanation. Everything is so old it’s hard to distinguish one amazing find from another. 

We walked around temple columns so big it would take six long-armed people to join hands around them. We fought off beggars and declined to buy smooth, mass produced vases. We saw then-president Mubarak in the Luxor airport less than 20 feet away across the baggage claim. I got disapproving looks when I thoughtlessly wore a sleeveless shirt to a public market. 

We also got sick, like many of our traveling companions. I was the first in our group to feel the effects of being in such a different place. So careful to drink bottled water and wash my hands, I still found myself lying on a few pieces of lumber in the dust outside an ageless temple. There was a friendly dog (we nicknamed him Rover-afa) lying beside me and my husband standing guard nearby. After my little rest, I was able to rejoin our group heading to the next destination. 

One night, as I was brushing my teeth and complaining about being sick, I told Bobby I was puzzled about how it had happened. I dutifully swished my mouth with bottled water, then rinsed my toothbrush under the bathroom tap. You’re not supposed to do that. Ah. Mystery solved. 

We visited a Nubian village with the added adventure of riding camels. My camel had woken up in a bad mood and needed to be led to our stop, yelling the whole way. At some point in the journey, Bobby, who’s camel was completely fine and had clearly made the trek to the village before, passed me with a smug smile (Bobby, not the camel), in complete control. 

We met lots of people; a young Australian woman who was traveling around the world by herself, a couple from South Carolina who tried, unsuccessfully, to teach us how to play bridge, a pilot and his wife from Texas who got to sit in the very front of our plane. I continue to be fascinated by the history and culture, and I’m still particularly amazed when I read the parts of the Bible that take place in Egypt. 

After our 10 day trip, we returned to Austria. We needed to pack and ship our things, decide what work we would do when we returned to the U.S., and say goodbye to our friends. But, I continued to reflect on this trip to Africa and what it had taught me. I learned once again that travel is good and taking advantage of your opportunities is good too. But, you should always be thankful for those who help you along the way. 

Back when Bobby finally agreed to the tour of Egypt, we had lots of things to figure out; is it really ok to leave our passports at the Egyptian embassy in Vienna in order to get a visa to travel there, can a woman wear shorts in a Muslim country, and is there any way we had saved enough money for this? We were missionaries, after all, and we never wanted to be flippant or careless in how we spent those dollars. Then, I remembered the monthly checks from Aunt Sally. I figured out how much she had given us over our two year stay in Austria and compared it to what our trip would cost. 

In Aunt Sally’s desire for us to use her contribution for vacation, she had given us just what we needed for that trip to Egypt. Thanks to Aunt Sally, we got to go. 

The Luxor Massacre took place on November 17, 1997 just a month after our return. We had visited the very same site where 62 people were killed. That effectively ended any hope of Bobby Britton returning to Egypt, ever. 

"Ancient Egyptians believed that upon death they would be asked two questions and their answers would determine whether they could continue their journey in the afterlife. The first question was “Did you bring joy?” the second was “Did you find joy?” 

– Leo Buscaglia

The picture quality is not great, I realize. But you're more than welcome to come by my house any time to see the whole story lovingly memorialized in our scrapbook. 

I Have a Brother

    

A couple of years ago at Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) in Bloomsburg, PA, where I was a mentor mom, we talked about awareness of and compassion for others. I offered to do a short devotion at the beginning of one of our monthly meetings where we were talking about the subject. After thinking and praying about it a lot, my devotion went something like this…

Compassion is one of those ideals that is easy to brush off. We think we know what compassion means. We think we know what it looks like. Maybe we do. Maybe we’ve been fortunate enough to experience it. 

I usually begin studying a concept by looking it up in the dictionary. So, I looked up “compassion.” The definition says compassion is “concern for the suffering and misfortune of others.” From that definition, I started thinking about Philippians 2:1-8. 

Philippians is a book of the Bible in the New Testament which was mostly written about the life of Jesus and about the church that Jesus started. Philippians was written by a man named Paul. Paul at one point had been not only anti-Christian, but he had been aggressively and violently anti-all-things-Jesus. 

Then, Jesus dramatically saved Paul from all that. Paul was never the same again. He even became a missionary where he traveled around to parts of Europe and Asia and started churches. On his second missionary journey he went to what is now Greece to a town called Philippi. He was warmly welcomed, and a church was started. Paul taught the Philippians everything he knew, fathering them in their new way of life. Things went smoothly for Paul, which wasn’t always the case. So, this church held a special place in his heart. 

Paul was probably in Rome when he wrote this letter to the Philippians, and he was probably in prison. When the church at Philippi heard about Paul’s predicament, they sent him a gift. Paul wrote a thank you note to the church in Philippi for that gift, cause his momma raised him right. The book of Philippians is Paul’s thank you note to the church in Philippi. He tells them how he’s doing and, like any good “dad,” he takes the opportunity to teach a little. 

In the second chapter of Philippians in verses 1 and 2 Paul says, 

“Is there any encouragement from belonging to Christ? Any comfort from his love? Any fellowship together in the Spirit? Are your hearts tender and compassionate?  Then make me truly happy by agreeing wholeheartedly with each other, loving one another, and working together with one mind and purpose.”

Here he basically says, “If our time together, if our relationship, means anything to you, then you need to act right. Y’all get along and work as a team. That’s what I taught you to do, and I hope that’s what you’re doing now.”  

Then, in verses 3 and 4 Paul says, 

“Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too.”

Here Jesus says don’t look out for yourself alone, don’t act like you don’t see a friend or a stranger struggling. Take your eyes off yourself, look out there and think of them before you think of yourself.

    My husband, Bobby, and I often quoted verses 3 and 4 to our children. “Each of you should look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” We just hoped the boys would love each other. We hoped and prayed they would get along and be good friends. I still hope and pray for that. But I want them to be so confident in their relationship with each other, so confident that God knows them and loves them completely, that they’re free and willing and eager to take care of other people.  

In verses 5-8 Paul says, 

“You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had. Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, he gave up his divine privilege; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being. When he appeared in human form, he humbled himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross.”

Paul gives us the example of Jesus. He says Jesus had more reason than anyone ever to say “no thank you” to being humble. He was GOD. But He didn’t grab that identity, He didn’t insist that everyone honor him and bow down. He humbled himself to being born as a human baby in a stable and He humbled himself to dying like a criminal.

Paul is basically saying, “If Jesus was able to look out for us first even as he died, then you should be able to tell a friend that she still has a curler in her hair. Or, if Jesus could come to this messed up world to save us, giving up Paradise for a time, then surely you can realize that the family down the street who just got a positive COVID test needs those pizzas in your freezer more than you do.” 

One day when my twin boys were about two or three, I had the rare opportunity to take just one of them to Costco. I put Allen in the buggy, and we cruised around the store, picking up the things we needed, and having fun together. When you have twins there’s not much one-on-one time. We paid for our things and headed to the exit. When we got close to the door one of the Costco workers who was checking receipts stopped us. He checked over our cart and then asked Allen if he wanted a sucker. Allen looked at me to make sure it was ok, and I said yes. Pleased with his sucker, Allen looked at me again and I gave him the standard mom reminder to be thankful, “Allen, what do you say?” Sweet, innocent Allen looked at the man who had given him the sucker, held out his hand and said, “I have a brother.”

I think that’s kind of how compassion is supposed to look. God doesn’t tell us in Philippians to look out ONLY for the interests of others. He says to look out ALSO for the interests of others. 

So, absolutely, say “thank you” for the gifts you’ve been given. But don’t be afraid to say to God or to the world, “You know what? I have a brother.” 

I love y’all. I want you to know you’re doing a great job. If you made it out of the house today and you and your children have some sort of clothing on and ate a little something for breakfast (whether it was fruit and yogurt or leftover pizza) you have already won. It is already a good day. If you don’t do anything else today but hug your children and tell them you love them and hug your husband and tell him you’re proud of him and you love him too, you have had a great day.

    Now, go love your brother.

 Commune with Us

When the pandemic began. I was one week into a brand new job, one of my sons was in Lanett with me after deciding to take a semester break from college, the other son was 30 minutes away working at a bank and living in Auburn, and Bobby was way up in Pennsylvania working on an oil and gas project. 

This was fairly normal for our family, but the lock down hit us just as hard as everyone else. We were new to Lanett, even though I grew up here. We had my mom and old friends, but we didn’t know many other people. 

In that year when everything stopped, on a dime, in a second, everything shifted. Everything changed. School looked remarkably like homeschooling for everyone. Work, even when you were working on a team, was done solo. And, church, well, church made me feel more remote than anything.

The shut down in Alabama started about a week before my husband and I were going to join a new church. I was looking forward to getting to know people. Having lunch with ladies I wanted to discuss missions and service opportunities with, having people over for meals that started out slightly awkward then ended in sighs and thankfulness over true connection. I was looking forward to beginnings.

But, we were all sent home to work alone, learn alone and even worship alone.

Bread and fish after an Easter Sunday service
standing by Niagra Falls

During the first Facebook service our church offered, my son, Allen, and I sang along to worship songs and read the scripture text for the morning. We listened to the sermon and bowed our heads in prayer. Molly, our dog, enjoyed the service with us, snuggled in Allen’s lap. Then, communion. 

The person leading the communion part of the service asked those at home to take a minute to “gather supplies.” Allen and I paused the video then scampered into the kitchen to lay our hands on the first things we could find. Anything that might work as a stand in for bread and wine, anything that might somehow help us turn our thoughts to the sacrifice of Christ.

I’ll admit this was kind of hard for me to begin with. I once had a friend describe communion at a camp her family attended. The children and adults at the camp shared in a communion meal of Coke and donuts. I kind of thought that was stretching the bounds of acceptable church behavior. Not sacrilegious, but getting there. 

So, it was with a bit of unease that I grabbed the first things my eyes landed on, leftover Domino’s garlic knots from dinner the night before and Milo’s sweet tea from the refrigerator. I cut two small pieces of buttery, parsley-flecked bread and put them on a small plate. I poured a couple of ounces of sweet tea into two, small, SEC Hall of Fame, plastic cups. I carried them to the family room and sat them on the trunk we use for a coffee table.

As the service continued, we were asked to share the elements with each other. 

“The body of Christ. 

Thanks be to God. 

The blood of Christ. 

Thanks be to God.” 

Allen and I took turns holding the plate, shyly and awkwardly saying the words. We each took our cup afterward and briefly held the tea aloft, almost toasting each other before taking a sip. 

Then, it was quiet. We listened to the music being played on Spring Road Christian Church’s Facebook page and settled back into our places on the couch. I closed my eyes thanking the Lord for all He has done, for all He continues to do for me - in me and around me. 

And, in that moment I felt peaceful, loved. Like God was present in the room, the smell of garlic hanging in the air like incense, the tumble of blankets on the couch needing to be folded. Like He didn’t care what we had eaten for communion, He just wanted to commune with us. To be invited, to be remembered. 

And, He was, even with such humble elements made holy by His very presence.

A gift of wine
brewed in a college fermenting class

Before the pandemic most of my experiences with communion were very reverent and saintly. Like the time I met a young woman who had briefly lived in the home of a pastor. She said every Saturday he ground wheat kernels by hand and baked bread loaves for communion at his church the next day. 

Or at my wedding where we had a freshly made, beautiful loaf of bread made by our pastor’s wife. We also had Sprite. Someone, me probably, had forgotten we needed grape juice for the communion part of our ceremony. I wondered why Brother Webb was looking at me so intently as I took the chalice. I didn’t stop to think about it in the moment, but I did briefly wonder why there were bubbles in the “juice.”

The lock down chipped away at some of my closely held ideals of what communion should look like. During the pandemic, in our communion celebrations, we shared cheese straws and water, pieces of sandwich bread and orange juice, crackers and Coke. It hasn’t been the same communion meal twice, but it was special and sweet and, dare I say it, holy, every time. 

Because the thing about communion isn’t what you’re eating, grape juice and hard, tiny wafers or wine and bread, or Coke and donuts, it’s what you’re remembering. It’s what you’re choosing to partake in. And, that’s the Body and Blood of Christ. 

Sitting in an easily accessible place on the shelf in my kitchen is a book called Bread and Wine. It’s a book with stories about food and meals and friends. It has the biscuit recipe I make many Sunday nights, a delicious vinaigrette salad dressing, and the decadent sounding Dark Chocolate Sea Salted Toffee. In this book, Shauna Niequist, the author, talks about how important bread and wine are not only as elements that fill our bodies, but as indelible marks on the life of a believer in Jesus. She says,

“Bread is bread, and wine is wine, but bread-and-wine is another thing entirely. 

The two together are the sacred and the material at once, 

the heaven and the earth, the divine and the daily.”

Shauna Niequist, Bread and Wine 

I’m so thankful the lock down is behind us, that we gather each Sunday, together, to worship and pray, to hug each other and shake hands, to hear the Word of God and take communion. Beautiful loaves of white bread, dipped in a bowl of scarlet juice. But, Allen would like everyone to know he’d appreciate more opportunities to have church with his dog. 

You Can't Handle the Truth

Hello world. I've missed you. For one reason and another, I haven't been writing. I've been thinking and working and other stuff, but not writing. Even this article, I didn't write recently. It's a repost from February 2019. But, I thought I'd share it with you anyway. I hope you're well.

Amy

        Waiting at gate A17 in San Antonio for my flight, I reached into my cute, little, pink purse for a pen. I drew my hand out with a pen in my fingers and sugar/cinnamon grit under my fingernails. I had swept the grit off my table only moments ago, not realizing I had baptized my purse with a sweet sprinkling, leftovers from a feeble attempt to drown my sorrows with CinnaSweeties from the Cinnabon a few gates back.

            I kept thinking I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be here. My only consolation the fact that I’d just checked my carry-on bag for free all the way to Harrisburg. No more bumping it down the center aisle to the peril of passengers nearby, hefting it into the overhead bin or sweet talking someone else into doing it. Now I just had my super heavy “personal item” to contend with, the memory of those delicious CinnaSweeties, and “wash your purse” added to my mental to-do list.

            Soon my flight would start boarding and I would to get up, gather my things and walk onto a plane propelling me over 1000 miles from my husband, Bobby. A series of weird and unusual circumstances lead to that disheartening reflection. Long story short, my husband’s job occasionally separates us. He’s asked to be at a job “yesterday,” I’m left to pack all the things we continue to accumulate and carry on the life we’ve been living. All without him.

            Getting on the flight felt wrong and I felt profoundly sad, weighed down with the enormity of the task at hand. Instead, I wanted to be sitting on the porch of Bobby’s cottage, watching the clouds cross the big, blue sky. I wanted to prop my feet on the porch railing, looking for the calf we saw moments after it’s birth only to lose sight of it later that afternoon.

     If you were to sit down beside me in that moment at gate A17, you wouldn’t see tears and tissues. But I could feel the tension of holding them in creeping up the back of my neck, seeping around my head to set up shop in my left temple and jaw. Apparently, I’m a very good actress. No one around seemed to notice I was about to burst into sobs or jump up and run out of the airport.

            “God won’t give you more than you can handle.”

            How often is this phrase uttered by well-meaning friends and clueless Hallmark cards? In my experience, it’s just not true.

            Maybe you have a different kind of relationship with God, but in my dealings with the Almighty, He regularly introduces new scenes into my life that exceed my capabilities or coping mechanisms. Like Carson showing an unwelcome guest into the library on Downton Abbey, God often heralds new seasons and experiences that I can’t handle.

            It happened when my dad got sick and passed away all in two weeks. It came around when my knees needed to be replaced and I could no longer summon the desire to walk to the back of the grocery store for cheese. And I have felt it’s unwelcome presence each of the three times Bobby has moved for his job months ahead of me and our boys.

            I can’t handle that stuff. I want to go to bed or eat cookie dough or get in my car and start driving aimlessly. God can fix all these woes and so much more. He can fix anything. He can handle anything that’s thrown at Him or at me.

            But, often He doesn’t.

            In 2 Corinthians 12:10, the author Paul says we should delight in suffering and weakness. He says when we’re weak, that’s when we’re really strong. He should know. God gave Paul a hum-dinger of a story to tell. He was stoned and left adrift at sea. He was beaten and shipwrecked three times each. Paul couldn’t handle that stuff. No one could.

            We’re told God goes with us. “He will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6) Paul knew that verse from the Old Testament and I assume he believed it. Otherwise, why in the world would he have set foot on a boat again after one shipwreck, let alone two?

            I recently looked up the names of God completely expecting to find The God Who’s Got It Handled smushed between The Ancient of Days and The Lord is Peace.  It may not surprise you that this very eloquent and relevant suggestion isn’t on any of the lists I referenced. Not a one, however true it may be.

            God took care of Noah and his family amid a world overrun by wickedness. He had a plan of victory for Joshua in marching around the city of Jericho. And, of course, He orchestrated the holy rescue mission of Jesus coming to earth as a helpless baby, saving us from ourselves and our sin.

            From a human perspective, all these situations seemed unlikely to work out. They all appeared to be bad ideas. Some might call you crazy if you were to suggest them today. But God used each for His victory, His glory and His people’s good.

            Nowhere does the Bible say God won’t give us more than we can handle. Not being able to handle stuff is kind of what we human beings are known for. It’s what we do and why we’re here. If we could handle everything that comes our way, why would we need God? In fact, John 16:33 tells us we will have trouble in this life. Jesus encourages us to take heart. When we trust Him to take care of us, we can have peace because Jesus has already overcome the whole world.

            I know for a fact God will keep giving me things I can’t handle. He made me and knows exactly how pressed and perplexed I can get. Yet, He continues to plop hard, unexpected things in my lap. He knows good and well I’ll soon be out of my depth, struggling to stay afloat, my nose barely breaking the surface of the situation while my arms and legs flail to stay in control.

            The older I get the quicker I realize I can’t take it. I’m much quicker to call out to God. Only then does God get to show up and show off. He gets to make a display of Himself that I can point to when someone asks, “How do you handle all that?”

            So… be like Paul and jump back in that boat. We often can’t handle whatever is coming around the bend. But the God Who’s Got It Handled? He certainly can.

 7 Things My Dog Taught Me During the Quarantine of 2020

Several months ago, my son, Allen, casually said, “Mom, have you ever experienced anything like this before?” He was referring to the COVID-19 pandemic and its effect on the country and world.  My answer was, “Um, no.”

I’ve never lived through a quarantine or a pandemic. But neither has anyone else I know. There have been outbreaks in fairly recent years of cholera and yellow fever, Ebola and measles. But those have been in isolated areas and I only heard about them through the news or prayer requests of friends who are particularly well-informed.

Our present situation just hasn’t happened before in my lifetime. Schools closed, businesses shut down, travel limited. How are we supposed to cope with this craziness? Living in the midst of a pandemic has been hard. No one is immune to the uncertainty and the changes and the isolation. 

While trying to protect myself and my family by staying home as much as possible, I also realized I have a choice about how I spend this time. I like to learn stuff from what I’m going through. I like to look for the meaning and the reason. I want to have something to carry home in my pocket or show off after the fact. I want things to be tied up with a tidy bow. But, this pandemic, this quarantine, seems so crazy, it’s hard to make sense of anything at the moment.

So, I’m looking in some tried and true places for wisdom and inspiration: the joy of work, the art of making a house a home, and my dog. 

Molly is 65 lbs. of puppy. She runs and plays until her legs literally give out from under her. And she loves her people. The opportunity to have her people at home all day, all to herself, has been the delight of Molly’s life. She’s unaffected by the chaos and clutter in the world. So, I thought, maybe Molly can help me make sense of my world too.

Here are seven things Molly is teaching me during the quarantine of 2020. 

1. You Gotta Trust

Molly needs me for just about everything. Even though she knows where her food is and she can tell time (because she tells me every day when it’s 6 o’clock, or supper time) Molly can’t feed herself. She needs me to open the huge container, scoop out her food and put it in her dish. 

I’m trying to trust that God is going to take care of me and my family too. While I’m not going to go to Walmart and recklessly start licking grocery cart handles, I’m not going to disinfect all my packages when I get home either. I opt for a happy medium between caution and carefree.

I’m trying to trust that in this bizarre time of isolation and inconstancy God has a plan. I believe God has something for each of us to learn and we shouldn’t waste it watching too many episodes of Tiger King or The Big Bang Theory. Watch some of that stuff, by all means, just not too much.

2. Celebrate the stuff worth celebrating. It just may look different. 

Molly loves to celebrate. Just look at her here with this rockin’ hat on. Molly endured the hat because she wants to please us. We rewarded her with homemade peanut butter, turmeric treats. 

Like Molly, my mom had to celebrate a big birthday while separated from her family. It wasn’t a great day, but she chose to make the best of it with grace. Our family Zoom call seemed to make things a bit better. Back when things were “normal” we would have had dinner together and eaten cake and opened presents. But things aren’t even close to normal now. So, we had to make do.

3. If you get stir crazy, run around. Just don’t hurt anyone.

Molly sometimes gets what my son calls “the zoomies.” Apparently, that’s an actual phenomenon where dogs end up the night with a little too much energy. In order to get rid of it before bedtime, they start running, or zooming, around the house. Molly will run around our family room until her tongue is hanging out. Then, she’ll collapse in a heap next to the couch until someone decides to take her out for the last bathroom walk of the day. 

If you get stir crazy you can do something similar. Turn on music and dance, run around the block, or do push ups. Just make sure you don’t actually run into someone else. Molly does that sometimes. It hurts. 

Dancing makes me feel better, so I’m making sure to spend part of each day dancing around my family room. I get sweaty, jam out and laugh at my inability to do some pretty basic dance moves. Then I take a shower and wash it all away.

4. Taking a nap in the sun just makes good sense. 

        Molly needs her naps as any good dog does. She fights it sometimes, but when she lets herself rest, she’s a more pleasant dog to be around. We’re a lot alike in that way, Molly and me. And, if you can find a sunny spot to bask in the glow of the sunshine, all the better. Soak up that vitamin D so your doctor won’t prescribe vitamin D pills for you.

5. Savor the small stuff. 

While we’re all so isolated and schedules are weird and we can all be a bit afraid, we need to savor the small stuff. Molly will gently take a piece of ice or an occasional treat offered from my hand then run into the next room. She’ll find a hidden spot where she can throw herself down on the floor with her treasure. Then, she’ll savor and slurp each crumb or drop. You don’t have to hide with your treats. You can even share them; but take a minute to think about what you’re eating or drinking. Don’t just gulp it down. Savor.

6. You should always have something to play with

Molly loves toys. In fact, she loves every little bitty piece of her toys. She’s a very destructive chewer. I could present Molly with a toy lovingly selected and purchased for $10 or more.  Often she will return within minutes to show off what used to be part of that toy, but now most definitely isn’t. She enjoys her toys, whether whole or in parts, with such glee it’s hard to be upset with her. 

I bet you have something you love to do. Netflix should have nothing to do with it. Something you DO, not something you watch. Break out your complicated coloring book and color pencils or find your knitting needles and that unfinished scarf you started knitting several winters ago. Get to it. Enjoy the process of making and doing something. Play with it. Have fun. 

For Christmas, Bobby, my favorite husband, gave me an online painting class. It’s called “Paint Happy.” It’s taken me forever to make any progress on the happy flowers I’m painting, but I’m having so much fun with it. The teacher, my friend, Tricia, is so joyful. She laughs often and encourages you to “paint wonky.” There’s no risk, no pressure. Just painting and creating for the fun of it. What a joy!  If you want to paint happy too, try this.

7. Sometimes it’s hard to keep your distance

Molly has no sense of personal space, choosing to cling to a tiny corner of my footrest instead of finding her own spot on the floor. As far as she’s concerned, it’s all hers. Her space, your space, the in between space, all for Molly. When I get on the floor to do yoga, she grabs a toy and snuggles up next to me, never mind that I’m bent over in a banana shape and will soon need the space she’s in to straighten myself back up. 

        When I visit my mom, I walk in the door and give her a hug.  We try to turn our faces away from each other but it's hard. I’m a hugger and my kids are getting the full force of my hugginess. I’m sure they wish this virus would run its course for many reasons. One of them is undoubtedly giving mom another person or two to hug. They’re being sweet and enduring all the hugs admirably. However, I’m sure they want me to stop.

What have you learned during this time of coronavirus? We’re all struggling in some way. My husband was working in another state and living himself for the first few months of the pandemic shutdown. He’s an introvert, but this much alone time is even getting to him. He needs to at least see some other people, even if he doesn’t really want to have a party with them.

I saw a post on Reese Witherspoon’s Twitter yesterday. It makes a lot of sense. She says she asks herself some questions every day. These are the ones that stood out to me: 

• What am I grateful for today?

• Who have I checked in with or checked on today?

• What parts of “normal life” am I letting go of today?

I love that. We should be grateful and check in with someone daily, whether in this time of crisis or not. But what part of “normal life” have I tried to hold on to that I just need to let pass away? Makeup? Schedules? The time of day I prefer to go grocery shopping? What can I release and make myself happier in the process? 

Today I’m having to release hugging my mom. But that’s ok. I’ll go hug one of my kids instead. Or maybe I’ll go hug that sweet dog.