I’m sitting here in my living room, not worried at all about this coronavirus. The girls are running around laughing and playing, and my husband is on the couch next to me, laughing at memes on his phone. It’s just a typical weekend day for us. A normal day of survival mode. Another day of leaning on our Father, who carries us every day.
I guess when you have already had a tragedy in your life, it puts things in perspective. I don’t worry about this virus attacking my children any more than I already fear that they will get hit by a car crossing the street, fall down the stairs and break everything, get kidnapped by the bad guys, stop breathing in the middle of their sleep. This is just another day I have learned how to survive with the eye-opening realization that life is so fragile. In a way, I just have to accept it. Otherwise, the fear of all the “what if’s” and “might happens” would consume me to the point where I’m not living at all. Just surviving. If anything, I’ve learned that I can’t control near as much as I once thought I could. That worry and fret don’t change the outcome. There have actually been moments when one of the girls have slept in longer than usual, and I’ve had my husband go check on them because I couldn’t bear the idea of finding another one of my children blue, while simultaneously thanking God for this moment of naivety. This moment of not knowing how things were going to turn out. Full of hope, holding my breath, and prayer. It’s a weird place to be, and a lot of mothers may not understand what I’m talking about. In fact, I hope none of you ever do. Because tragedy changes you. When the thing happens that you never thought would happen to you… when you get a front-row seat to what it feels like to be that person you always said you could never imagine being… everything is altered forever. Life will never go back to the way it was before. You know things. You have seen something and gone through something and do things that forge strength that is bittersweet, to say the least. There have been so many times where I would have traded all God has taught me just to have one more moment with our Saygie girl. Because that’s the measure of a mother’s love. It never ends and never stops longing and is beyond comprehension. But what I have learned and what God has taught me through tragedy, has also left me sitting in peace on my couch in the middle of a worldwide pandemic.
And it’s different for everyone. I’m not saying that all parents who have suffered tragedy will be reacting the same way as me. I’m just saying that for me, I’ve seen worse. This is nothing compared to what I know. In a sense, I have been there, done that, and have seen the other side. God has delivered me through the very worst I could ever imagine. God had shown me a way to keep breathing when I had forgotten how. God has been my strength when I had none. And showed me beauty. The craziest thing I could ever say is that beauty has bloomed from the ashes of what my life once was. But I have seen it with my own eyes. I’ve been there.
And I’m not judging. I’ve been the one cowered in the corner with my arms wrapped around the most precious things in my life, thinking my arms would offer enough protection. I guess I’m just saying there is a peace that I now know that I wasn’t really able to lean on before. Confidence in the capability of the One who knows the future. There is a feeling of rest in the middle of this chaos. Because I know the meaning of the “even so” in the song saying, “It is well.” I live it every day. I know a peace that surpasses understanding. I know how it feels to surrender everything and to feel like you have nothing left. And for God to overflow your broken cup. He is a miracle worker. And I know He’s all over this.
So, really I guess all I’m saying is for me, this coronavirus is just another Thursday. Just another way God is going to show us He is enough. Whatever may come, we will greet it when it gets here. And we will not waver, because we know Who is on our side. And so I’m going to sit back on my couch, sip on my coffee and watch. Because I know the show is just about to begin. And I’ve already seen the ending.