Even at a young age my wife was a germaphobe. When she was only 10 years old she would sleep with her hand hanging from the side of the bed. This was the hand used to touch doorknobs and other surfaces. She didn’t want to contaminate her blanket and the rest of the bed.
Turns out this mentality comes in handy during a pandemic. In the middle of March my wife set up a Decontamination Zone in the garage.
It begins with an ominous sign on the garage floor,
“Enter, 1. Follow the path of decontamination.”
Blue tape on the floor leads to the next sign,
“2. Remove shoes. Place on shelf.”
The next sign on the floor conveniently next to the laundry machine says,
“3. Remove clothes. Place in Machine.”
The blue tape then leads to the sink where you can read on the wall,
“4. Wash hands for 20 seconds.”
The following sign located next to a pile of towels reads,
“5. Using towel, enter house. Then, shower!”
The sign to the door of the house reads,
“Thank you! (then pray this helps!)”
After praying and entering the house I make an immediate left turn to the bathroom for a shower. Having been thoroughly cleansed, I can finally hug my family. All this seemed over the top but if all it brought was calm to my anxious wife, then going through the decontamination zone was worth it.
As the pandemic worsened, my own anxieties have caught up with me and I turn from viewing my wife as a worry wart to a wise sage. Those personal worries have caused me to think about potentially losing my own life and worse yet, the life of those I love.
Death has always been closely tied to the reality of the human experience. Modern society has done a good job preventing and rescuing us from death. As a result, it’s not something that enters our minds often. The truth is when the reality of death sets in as a real possibility, the essence of life emerges from the fog. Suddenly we see what matters. But we must go through that fog. We must ask questions that matter. The big questions of life are not for mere intellectual exercise. Rather, when we go through crises, these questions become personal, even practical.
- Where do I find security?
- What lives matter most to me? How do I protect them?
- How do I deal with the fear of losing someone I love?
It’s this last question I’ve been thinking about. It got real one day when I wanted to visit my dad with my family when the pandemic was beginning to break out. He works as a general surgeon in several hospitals serving a county of 100,000 people. After sending him a text that I would be heading over, I read his response, “Inadvisable, I just did a central line on two patients suspected of having COVID-19.” I decided against visiting him that day.
A couple weeks later I had to have a conversation with him, “Dad, I won’t be bringing the kids over for a couple months. I also need to teach you how to use Google Hangouts.” I wouldn’t be seeing him for a couple months. My Dad’s a frontline worker. He’s a hero. Because he is a healthcare worker, he carries the highest risk among professions of contracting COVID-19.
While pandemics get us thinking of mortality, dealing with aging parents gets us to do the same. I’ve been dealing with the possibility of losing Mom to cancer since she was diagnosed in the summer of 2017. This fear often drives me to my knees weeping while I plead for God to spare the life of my mother.
But as I’ve stared deep into the abyss of one day losing my mother for the rest of my life, I’ve also been challenged to look up.
To look up to find light.
To look up and see a kind of brightness.
To look up to catch a glimpse of the eternal.
To look up and insist this is not the end.
To look up and believe death is not the final answer.
One of the truest words in Scripture not often quoted is found in James 4:14:
Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.
God tells us that life is just a mist.
It’s vapor.
It’s just a taste before the real thing.
It’s the appetizer before the main course.
It’s a momentary, fleeting and beautiful existence.
God puts us on earth. But he designed us for an existence beyond this one. We’re just passing through.
Kind of like going through a decontamination zone before we get home.
6 Comments
Your mom’s ready to be with Jesus praise your Lord…
True….but hopefully not too soon…….
Oh I loved this so much! I often think about the lives of the people I serve and it seems filled with suffering that comes from poverty and illness, and honestly just living in Africa in general. But if we have the hope of Jesus, we can remember that this life is truly fleeting (more for some than others) and even if it doesn’t feel like a beautiful life we can rest assured a better one is coming! Thanks for sharing this and wishing you good health!
Thank you for such encouraging words, Rachel. You and James are an inspiration bringing relief to suffering even if for a moment. I can only imagine what would happen if covid ravaged Africa the same way it is doing to more developed nations like the US. Keep up the good work and stay safe.
So blessed to hear from you, glad you’re continuing your blog.
What are you doing these days that Melanie has you sanitizing yourself?
Well, I was working at a Free Clinic until they closed. If I’m out and about for long periods, then I’m required to go through the Decontamination zone! Hope you’re enjoying retirement 🙂