Every morning, I wake up early and can’t fall back asleep. The news reports are too much—and yet not enough.I order groceries and spray the bags with Lysol when they arrive. Then I wipe off each item carefully before I put it in the refrigerator.
I worry we will run out of milk.
I worry we will run out of toilet paper.
I worry that someone I love will get sick—or that I will get sick and not be able to cook and take care of my family.
I worry we’ll lose someone we love and not even be able to say goodbye.
I worry we will never get back to our normal lives.
Now and then, I wonder whether I should care about the academic work my children are missing, but I can’t—or won’t deal with that.
Instead, I pretend that it’s summer vacation, and I let my sons play. They run around outside with light sabers. They build castles in the basement. They play too many video games. They fight over who gets to read Harry Potter. They blare rap music and Christmas music and whatever else through the house, and I just let them.
It’s a crazy time, especially as I work from home and try to balance motherhood and wifehood and employee-hood. Letting our children be children makes this not-normal situation a little more normal. It’s good for me. It’s good for them. The math worksheets can get done tomorrow or next week or never.
Sometimes I stop and think, “How can this be Lent?” But it is.
Often it doesn’t matter what you decide to do for Lent. Sometimes your Lenten journey finds you. So, here we are.
Our spiritual desert has found us. The word “quarantine” traditionally meant to be separated for 40 days to make sure people didn’t infect others. As we count the 40 days of Lent, we are truly separated—from the Eucharist, from so many people we love, from all the events and activities that have been canceled, from our normal, ordinary lives.
It must have seemed like a perfectly ordinary day in Nazareth when the angel Gabriel appeared to a lovely young woman to ask her to be the mother of the Son of God. She may have been confused, but she said yes. Our Blessed Mother accepted and embraced God’s will as her own.
Today, as we celebrate the feast of the Annunciation, I think of Mary and her simple—yet powerful—yes. It’s a challenge to me on an ordinary day—and a greater one today.
In this time of anxiety and uncertainty, I’m not sure exactly what God is asking of each of us. But I suspect He is asking us to have faith and hope that this is just a piece of the story. I believe He is asking us to trust in Him. And I am sure He is asking us to walk with Him and know He is walking with us.
As we face the unknown, may we have the courage to say yes to God and His plan every day. And may He equip us with what we will need for whatever lies ahead.
Mary, Mother of God, pray for us.
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