The surprising gift of cancelling plans and staying home

As the mom of a cancer fighting kid, I know a little about what it’s like to be on a forced quarantine. For eight months, our family had to be extra careful about germ exposure which meant saying yes to social distancing and no to things like school, airline travel, movie theaters, sporting events, and church attendance. When we did venture out I was usually armed with Lysol wipes in my purse and hand sanitizers of every shape and size. (Yes, I was that mom wiping down the tables at Starbucks!) Keeping Owen safe from our germy world not only required forethought and discernment, but a willingness to temporarily give up many comforts we’d taken for granted. 

As our world continues to take drastic measures to prevent the spread of the Coronavirus/COVID-19, I can’t help but remember our life last year. Despite so much suffering for our son, and moments of great uncertainty, I still see our forced stillness as an incredible gift to our family. Last year we learned to value what really matters: each other. Even greater, but perhaps harder at times, was pushing into the hope of Christ, and a future far better than this uncertain earth we call home.

In uncharted times such as these, it is tempting to panic and fear the worst. What could this virus mean for my asthmatic child? How will these university closures impact my professor friends who have to re-create their syllabi? Is my brother-in-law safe as an emergency room physician? Are my parents taking proper precautions? How about my almost 95 year old grandparents? What does this mean for our country and the world’s economic stability or lack thereof? Don’t even get me started about whether or not we’re going to experience a, er, situation in three weeks when our toilet paper supply runs out. 

But, in uncharted times such as these, I also can’t help but dream a little. What could this virus mean for our tired nation? How will these school closures force families to get creative with quality time together? What might it look like to stay home and play games or have fireside chats with neighbors instead of attending the PTA meeting you didn’t really want to be at anyway? What could a Sunday morning at home feel like without being at church? What if you discover that without a Little League game at 8am on Saturday that you get to have a leisurely family breakfast and beach walk instead? 

I recognize that forced stillness comes with plenty of small and large financial impacts--everything from losing money on the cruise you had to cancel, or, worse, losing a large part of a paycheck because you can’t work. I will not pretend these losses aren’t incredibly painful in their own respective ways. And yet, I must wonder, how will a worldwide lack of control over our daily plans and our finances force us to reckon with questions such as:

What truly brings me joy?

Why is it so unsettling when I’m not in control?

When I’m anxious because I’m not in control, who do I turn to? How do I fix it?

Who is in control anyway?

Why does that thought of slowing down or staying home scare me?

What is the root cause of my fear, and how do I break free from this fear?

What are the things I do when I’m trying to find peace? Are they working?

Where does my hope come from?

Whether or not you’re on a forced quarantine, you will likely have plans cancelled in the weeks to come. This opportunity for stillness comes as a great gift to our hustle heavy world. What will you do with this gift? If you’re not sure, can I offer some suggestions?

On the faith side of things:

• Spend 15 minutes each day in silence and solitude. Practice slow breathing. Ask God to reveal to you how you feel in that moment. 

• If you feel sad or disappointed in your changed plans…tell God about it. Grieving is normal and good.

• Journal. Push into some of the above questions.

• Memorize Bible verses that calm your heart.

• Consider asking God how He’d like to help you.

• Consider asking God how He’d like to use you in this weary world. (Making a meal for a sick family? Watching your friend’s kids whose parents need to work?)

• Pray for the elderly people in your life. Check-in with them and ask how they’re feeling emotionally. 

• Pray for your friends who are in the medical field; for their safety, protection from disease, discernment, and willingness to keep doing their job. 

• Pray for those people who are immunocompromised and at greater risk for disease. 

• Pray for people who struggle with depression or anxiety, as uncertain times may be even harder for them. Reach out and ask how you can help.

• Practice Sabbath.

• Listen to encouraging worship music.

On the fun side of things:

• Swap board games with another family and play a new one each night with your kids. (We are newly obsessed with Sushi Go, and it’s very inexpensive on Amazon!)

• Catch up on the fiction books you never have time for.

• Have a Nintendo tournament with family or friends. 

• Set a family goal to finish a certain number of books by the end of March, or, choose a book you’ve always wanted to read together and then dedicate time daily to reading aloud.

• Host small dinner parties for (healthy!) friends. Consider having neighbors that you’ve never invited over before.

• Make encouraging cards for local nursing homes, or hospital care providers.

• Watch the new Taylor Swift documentary because it’s fun and inspiring.

• Go for long, regular walks. 

• Prioritize outdoor exercise—it keeps your body AND mind healthy.

• Light a candle every morning and every night, for peace and beauty.

• Catch up on random tasks like teaching your eight year old to tie her shoes or cleaning out a closet. (Wait. Only I find those tasks fun?)

• Buy a new pair of sweatpants and think about them all day until you get to slip them on again.

• Get regular sleep each night.

• Make time for hobbies again.

Last June, just weeks after Owen finished chemotherapy, we piled into the minivan and took off for a camping trip to Big Sur. We were a mess getting out the door; Luke was sick, Owen was frail and bald, and I was a wreck from rounding up camping supplies and food for five people. And yet once we saw those great big cliffs, turquoise waters, and giant Sequoias we were breathless. While I think Big Sur likely has the breathless effect on most of its visitors, I am also certain that our wonder and gratitude for its beauty was birthed out of a deep and sustained longing for such freedom, and it’s miraculous fulfillment.

When the sporting events return, the flights are full again, and the unknowns dissipate, I hope you too will find gratitude from the unexpected gift of slowing.

As a post-script of sorts, I’d also like to offer some helpful links from this week:

How I’m Talking to My Kids About Coronavirus

FlattentheCurve.com: (All the practical stuff you’d ever need to know about COVID19, and then some!)

Alaska Airlines cheapest fares...because...it’s tempting, right?

A new favorite plant-based dinner, mostly made from pantry staples

$4,000 Toilet Paper—so funny!

And a tip from a fellow mom: Help your kids learn to regularly wash their hands by writing on their hands each morning with a Sharpie. (Try a W for “wash” or make a heart, cross, or inspiring word.) Tell your kids that by the end of the day, you’d like to see the marking gone. Offer rewards or bribes. See what happens! We’ll be trying it today. 

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

How I helped a Pakistani woman obtain her citizenship (and an arranged marriage)

A few years ago I helped a Muslim woman from Pakistan become an American citizen. It was 2008, and my church needed volunteer tutors for people in our city who wanted to learn English for life skills. I remember an older woman standing up during the announcement portion of our church service to share why such a ministry existed. “There are women who can’t help their children with homework or even go grocery shopping,” she said. “Imagine how their life might change if they knew English.”

I’d spent a few summers tutoring kids and figured the volunteer commitment wouldn’t be difficult. A few weeks after my Saturday training they matched me with two Pakistani women—sisters-in-law. They lived together in a lower income neighborhood less than two miles from my own. What I didn’t realize is that several streets within the neighborhood consisted of mostly Muslim families.

On the first day, several little boys in traditional white shalwar kameez clothing greeted my car and led me to the house where I’d tutor. The man of the house spoke English and worked a full time city government job. He’d been the one to call for a tutor, and I found him formal but friendly. If anything, he didn’t fit my stereotypes. He wanted his wife and sister to receive an education, and this seemed counter to what I thought I knew about devout Muslims from Pakistan.  

Over the course of a year, I spent several hours each week with Sajida and Khalida. We’d sit in a small, sparse room seated on each side of a card table, and I’d point at flash cards and workbooks. Children filtered in and out of the room, and the women took turns tending to them. They’d often sent me home with steaming plates of spicy foods.

Eventually, the man of the house asked me to stop tutoring his wife and focus all my time with his sister, Khalida. Her English was still very weak, but she was making faster progress than his wife, so he wanted her to receive more of my attention. He also asked me to spend less time on conversational English and focus on studying for the U.S. citizenship test instead. Khalida had taken it before and failed, but he believed with a little more studying she could pass.

To be honest, at the time, I didn’t give much thought to all of his requests. I didn’t know anything about the immigration process, and how long many people wait for an opportunity to become citizens. I didn’t wonder why this family, this woman, was being given a chance to receive her citizenship when other families with more education and US work experience had been waiting years. If anything, I jumped at the chance to be part of, what I believed, was giving someone a better life. A citizen?! I could help her become a citizen?! How cool is that?

And so we spent weeks and weeks memorizing and cramming for Khalida’s citizenship test. We could barely have any type of basic conversation beyond “Hello” and “How are you” and “My name is Khalida” but she could memorize and recite how many stripes are on the American flag and who signed the constitution, and everything about all the branches of the government. On an early spring day, Khalida’s brother picked me up from work in their run-down minivan and drove me to the citizenship office where she’d take the test, and pass.

When they dropped me back off at work, it would be the last time I saw her. She wasn’t sticking around for the big, official swearing-in ceremony. Instead, she’d be heading back to Pakistan, where her brother informed me that her citizenship would make her a very eligible bride. I thought he wanted her to receive an education, when really he wanted to marry her off. Eventually, she’d return to the United States with an arranged husband and a life spent at home. A citizen with freedoms, but not enough English to even grocery shop by herself. Needless to say, I felt defeated.

So when I read more about the San Bernardino husband-wife shooting, and marriage-for-visa rackets, my ears burned a little bit. When I read commentaries about the need to strengthen our borders and reconsider who can enter this country, I feel conflicted. I now have first-hand observations that our system is probably flawed, and while I won’t jump to conclusions that thousands of criminally minded men and women are entering our country through shoddy marriages, I can also understand the concern.

To be honest, I often don’t know what to believe or how our President should act when it comes to immigration laws.

But there are a few things I do know.

This is America—that a Muslim family had the ability to call a local church for tutoring services, and that church didn’t turn them away despite very different beliefs.

This is America—that the church did not ask me to do anything besides teach with love. No formal preaching. No formal discipleship, simply praying for opportunities to show them Jesus through my actions and consistency and love.

This is America—where I, an unaccompanied Christian woman not wearing a headscarf, could go into a Muslim home and use my education to teach other women, who in many Muslim countries are not allowed access to such privileges.  

This is America—where I am welcomed by a Muslim family with smiles and conversation, sent home with warm plates of spicy foods, and treated with respect despite our very different beliefs.

And this is America—that I was able to help a non-English speaking woman receive her citizenship so that she could return to Pakistan, a highly valued potential bride, who in theory was able to bring her new husband back to the land of the free and the brave.

Without a doubt, our current immigration system isn’t working correctly. But, despite a broken system, when I read about hateful, fear-based rhetoric about Muslims in our country, I can’t help but think I’m living in a different America than the one I believe in so strongly.

Border control, to me, starts by getting to know our neighbors. It begins by literally leaving our homes and going into theirs, eating their food, and offering our gifts to each other despite sometimes very different religious and political viewpoints. When I went into the home of two lovely and kind Muslim women, I saw our commonalities. They are no longer “those Muslims” but Khalida and Sajida. I picture their faces when people like Jerry Falwell Jr. stand up to give a public charge to arm ourselves, and I worry about them when I hear of people targeting Muslims with hate language or violence.

I wonder, all these years later, if Sajida and Khalida are safe and well. I wonder if they’ve learned English. I wonder about Khalida’s new husband and if he was allowed to cross our borders, and if so, should he have been allowed to do so? I hope he came here for opportunity and peace; not to cause destruction or harm.

I also wonder when we’ll stop throwing love out first? Could we make less sweeping generalizations? Could we commit to getting to know Muslims in our community before speculating what religious codes they do or don’t follow? Could we possibly start by pursuing friendships, while also civilly discussing reasonable laws and safeguards?

Yes, our system is broken, and I’d like to see it fixed. It will take more than dialogue and tutoring and warm plates of food. But what would our America look like if more people started by opening their doors and kitchens and hearts rather than closing them so tightly?

photo credit: Chilling at Sheikh Zayed via photopin (license)