I've been thinking all week of how lucky I am. I grew up in the top floor of a three-decker house in Boston and for the first fourteen years of my life we had no central heating, no rugs, one bathroom, five kids, and a father who went into WWII at 18 and probably suffered from PTSD for the rest of his life. He sometimes exploded in rage, making my childhood less than idyllic. It took me a long time to figure out it probably was out of his control, and it took longer to forgive him for what he really couldn't help. I would dream of the day when I would have a "real house" with an upstairs, a fireplace, and a piano.
Staying home all this time for the last month has given me time to realize that I actually am "living the dream". I don't play the piano well, but it's there, right next to the stone fireplace. My husband, the gentle, calm soul whom I love, works upstairs, using our younger son's bedroom as his office, and while he's looking for work like so many others these days, I still have a job and sit in the rocker in front of the fireplace trying to keep up with the demands of being in the periphery of the health-care industry (paperwork side only).
May God forgive me, I have complained about boredom, or lack of variety of food, or missing visiting my friends for a meal and a cocktail, or how nervous I get going out to buy groceries. A dear friend of mine posted something this morning which stopped me dead in my tracks. She didn't write it, but whoever did deserves some sort of medal. The author asked people to stop saying "We're all in the same boat." We are NOT all in the same boat. We are all in the same STORM. My boat is very comfy. I still have food, a job, my family, a roof over my head. There are people out in tiny rowboats on this stormy sea, who have zero income coming in, who don't know how they will eat, or pay the light bill, or keep their apartment. There are people out there who are in an abusive situation, and I remember what those look like. The longer the tension builds the angrier people get. There are people trying to work full time from home and also teach their small, baffled children in the middle of this chaos. And there are all those on the front lines, bagging our groceries, selling us gas, filling our prescriptions, caring for our sick and dying. Some are being incredibly brave and selfless, and many have absolutely no choice in the matter if they want to eat.
May God, who knows all about calming seas, calm this one, and may He give courage and comfort to all those in the smallest and most fragile boats.
Staying home all this time for the last month has given me time to realize that I actually am "living the dream". I don't play the piano well, but it's there, right next to the stone fireplace. My husband, the gentle, calm soul whom I love, works upstairs, using our younger son's bedroom as his office, and while he's looking for work like so many others these days, I still have a job and sit in the rocker in front of the fireplace trying to keep up with the demands of being in the periphery of the health-care industry (paperwork side only).
May God forgive me, I have complained about boredom, or lack of variety of food, or missing visiting my friends for a meal and a cocktail, or how nervous I get going out to buy groceries. A dear friend of mine posted something this morning which stopped me dead in my tracks. She didn't write it, but whoever did deserves some sort of medal. The author asked people to stop saying "We're all in the same boat." We are NOT all in the same boat. We are all in the same STORM. My boat is very comfy. I still have food, a job, my family, a roof over my head. There are people out in tiny rowboats on this stormy sea, who have zero income coming in, who don't know how they will eat, or pay the light bill, or keep their apartment. There are people out there who are in an abusive situation, and I remember what those look like. The longer the tension builds the angrier people get. There are people trying to work full time from home and also teach their small, baffled children in the middle of this chaos. And there are all those on the front lines, bagging our groceries, selling us gas, filling our prescriptions, caring for our sick and dying. Some are being incredibly brave and selfless, and many have absolutely no choice in the matter if they want to eat.
May God, who knows all about calming seas, calm this one, and may He give courage and comfort to all those in the smallest and most fragile boats.
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