If I were to try and think up the perfect beginning scene for a truly epic horror movie, there would be a group of people who have been thrown into the ocean–through no fault of their own–and they are hanging onto something while they know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that a huge megladon kind of shark is lurking below. These people know that a rescue boat is coming, they just don’t know when. They know that this shark is going to come up for a nibble at some point, but they don’t know when that will happen either. They also don’t know if the shark wants to simply bump them and scare them, bite off a toe or a foot, eat an entire leg, or swallow one of them whole. Oh, and they don’t know if the shark is hungry enough to eat all of them, or just a few parts of one of them. The ONLY thing they know for sure is that he is circling slowly, and he is coming closer every minute.

It may not be an academy award winner, but it kinda describes how I feel right now. Something is coming. Heck, it’s probably already here…it just hasn’t hit ME yet. I’m waiting for it to happen though….but not waiting patiently. It’s more like the kind of waiting you do when the dentist is about to stick a needle in your gums; when your whole body is tensed up and the palm of your left hand has perfect little replicas of the nails from your right hand etched into because you’re involuntarily gripping yourself so hard….just waiting for the pain to come.

We live in a small town in the middle of the country. We are watching what this nasty virus is doing all around us, knowing that it’s steadily moving our way, and waiting with this weird sense of horrified and resigned anticipation for it to land on our doorstep. We’re trying not to lose our footing as the rules for living change again and again. Every day we hear about something that, if it were the only piece of news we got, would shock us completely into silence but since it is only one of thousands of other pieces of almost unbelievable news we just nod and swallow it and maybe try to assimilate it before we just keep on going.

“A thousand people died from this today.”
“My kid will miss the rest of their senior year.”
“The NBA and NHL and other sports have ended their season.”
“I can’t hug my parents anymore.”
“Broadway is closed. Simply closed.”
“I can’t buy flour or paper towels.”
“There is a field hospital in Central Park.”
“Jobs are being lost by the thousands.”
“Thankfully I still have a job but how do I homeschool my kids too?”
“People aren’t allowed to have visitors in hospitals and are dying alone.”

We hear these things. We know these things. We live these things.

But still, here, in smalltown USA, the redbuds are blooming and the birds are singing and people are out and about chatting with their neighbors.

It seems so normal.
It is so not normal.

We know a train is coming our way. We know it’s going to hit us. We don’t know how much force it’s going to have, if it will hit our home or only the neighbors, if it will devastate us or simply give us a glancing blow as it careens off down its’ track of devastation. We just know…it’s heading this way.

I think that’s what makes it so hard right now.
If we sit in the right position and look in the right direction, things seem ok. Sure, I have to learn “Zoom” and how to teach my kids geometry and iambic pentameter, but it’s not so bad.
But. But.
Underneath everything I do….there is SOMETHING. It’s un-nerving. Unsettling. It’s the vague presence of that shark swimming somewhere below me. I can’t see it, but I can just feel the barely moving water currents as it circles and circles, far beneath my feet.

The thing is, when you have a catastrophe in your life, you know that the worst is over and from now on you will have healing and rebuilding. Right now, we are waiting for the catastrophe. That anticipation is hard. Mix that with all the extreme lifestyle changes we are are experiencing and….well…..it’s no wonder that some of us might have eaten our kids’ entire stash of not-yet-given Easter candy.

It’s a tough roller coaster. Gratefulness coupled with worry followed by a steep hill of preparing yourself the best you can…then plunging down into the horrible “what if’s” of anticipation. That’s probably the reason that I go from happily enjoying having everyone home to random chest heaving sobs when everyone goes to bed. Maybe that’s why I stay up until 2am doing a puzzle because it feels so good to be able to actually fix a mess in front of me. I’m sure that’s why I’ve discovered that Cadbury Creme Eggs actually go better with white wine than with red.

It’s hard to “live your best life” with a sense of impending doom hanging over your head. It’s hard to wake up to Groundhog Day again. It’s hard to give up so many things we never realized were luxuries.

But….here’s the thing.
We may be socially distancing; we may be self-isolating; we may be staying at least 62,434 feet away from other people….

BUT WE ARE NOT ALONE.

We are all doing this. We are living it. We are all struggling through.

So let’s be gentle to each other. Let’s show our best side as the human race. Let’s make the word “love” an action. Let’s help each other…even if that means staying as far away from each other as possible.

Let’s realize that somedays we are going to be strong enough to lift up the people around us…..and DO it. Find a way to make something easier for someone else in your world!

Then, let’s realize that somedays we aren’t going to be strong. We’re going to need some lifting up. Be willing to accept that help, knowing what a difference it makes to whomever is offering it to you.

I think it’s ok to be up and down…even on an hourly (or less) basis.
I think it’s ok to be angry at people and be worried about them at the same time.
I think it’s ok to wish this wasn’t happening and to enjoy the beautiful things that ARE happening because of this stupid pandemic.
I think it’s ok to eat Oreos for breakfast, whoppers for lunch and pimento cheese for dinner.

Yes, the shark is circling, but we can’t control the shark. We can control only ourselves (and sometimes that isn’t all that doable!) and we just have to keep swimming. The world will be all right again. We will be all right again. For now though, I will choose to focus on the bright and beautiful moments, but not berate myself for feeling what I feel when the fear breaks through.

All we can do is what we can do. God’s going to take care of the rest, and of us. And I’ll pass on this bit of personal knowledge I’ve received in the past few weeks….when you can’t sleep, a puzzle and 2 Cadbury Eggs truly do help.