This past week was a week of firsts for us. We left the house and went on a vacation for the first time since January. I took a trip INSIDE Wal-Mart for the first time since the mandatory masks went into play. As a family, we decided it was time to return to Mass. And today the two oldest put on their school uniforms and went to school - firsts that never mattered like they do now.
It took our church a minute to jump on the virtual train for mass, but when they did, we were so grateful to turn on our device and tune in to a familiar face, a familiar voice, and a familiar place. 21 Sundays later, and I felt it was time to get out of the living room, take a leap of faith (masked) and attend in person. I kept thinking Miller wouldn't cooperate with a mask, and my rule-following self wanted the safe route. So we woke up early, got dressed in clothing that we hadn't seen in months, grabbed the masks, and headed out. We were on time and able to be seated within the allowed capacity. A family of 6 gets a whole pew to themselves right now, y'all. When we walked in, our instincts forced us to dip our fingers into the font of Holy Water, and my hand hit a cold porcelain. I paused. A reminder of the time we live in and the measures taken to get us back into the building. The font had run dry - but had it?
Mass was lovely. The boys cooperated, and I only had to re position Miller's mask about 14 times. I was alright with that, and so was he. When it came time for communion, I knew we were in for it, but I hoped for the best. Miller crossed his arms being led by Grayson, and they were only slightly confused that the Eucharistic Minister didn't touch their forehead in prayer...Miller held out his hand, stomping for a piece of communion, and I fumbled mine as I tried to pull down my mask AND grab him. It hit the floor. The immediate inner thoughts of "don't you DARE pick that up and take it in the time of Covid, no matter how Holy that thing is," I handed it back to the man who without a wink, quickly gave me a new one. Right about then, Grayson had made his way over to the Priest for yet another blessing (cause one's not enough ya know), Briggs forgot that he HASN'T made his communion yet, and I was grabbing as many little arms as I could to hurry everyone back down the aisle and to our seat. My patience had run dry. We sat back down, and I knelt in the pew, head rested into my hands, and I prayed in thanksgiving for just being there. The font was empty, the Missals were gone, but my heart was full.
I'm not sure about you all, but we sure have grown accustomed to rolling with as many punches, while balancing two or three plates on a stick and riding a unicycle at any given time. I find myself saying "it's fine" at any instance, and I still can't tell if that's good or bad. Today, I pulled out a very yummy shrimp pasta frozen from my birthday dinner and thawed it out, only to find a hole in the freezer bag and a ziplock full of swimming shrimp within 20 min. Just order pizza. That was after Miller and Grayson broke the back door (not sure how) until it wouldn't shut correctly or lock in place, the upstairs smoke detector began that monotonous battery alert that you just can't ignore, and BK3 flooded the shower/bathroom for fun. Miller sent his lunch spoon flying across the room so hard today that I swear it chipped the paint on my mother's kitchen wall, but I had to acknowledge how great of a left-handed side arm that was...Damn. But not before my hand met his backside. It's fine. Right?
The few days leading up to today's first day of school were adventurous - "It's really happening", I kept telling myself. GET YOUR SH*T TOGETHER! Hair cuts, Uniforms that fit, supplies labeled - I had to sharpen 72 pencils by the way - and please for the love of God, find some lunch box food for them. Down to my 11 pm bedtime, I was excited, nervous, and hopeful. What do we feel these days? Our old selves are trying so hard to come alive, but our new selves (and they ARE new) are fighting to stand a ground that we don't even know is firm. We're afraid of the unknown, and the thought in my mind is "Hold it together, you've got 4 young boys watching your every move." When the world stopped 5 months ago, we were hit with the realities and complained about the shifts. But did it stop? No - it was just getting started. I see now that my fuel for the old had run dry, and my eyes needed to see it. My heart knew where we were going, but schedules and patterns and repetition had gotten the best of me. And now the "it's fine" mentality that goes with a flow that I've never known scares the mess out of me, but it also teaches me to trust a little more. Today, I had to trust. Do we have the answers? Do we know if starting school in person will spread this virus like wild-fire? Do we know what this year will look like? Next year? 5 years?
The font hadn't run dry. That cold porcelain was actually a reminder of what is still here. Our faith can fill the gaps that this 'time of Covid' creates. And perhaps "running dry" is the very thing that we need to live the life we never imagined? Maybe "running dry" is creating the trust that our old selves were too strong to include? What else might this time teach us? I'm learning - are you?
