Gathering Together in an [Almost] Post Pandemic World

 

Last week I attended three parties--three parties that, for the first time in more than a year, included people who were not in my immediate family. It was so great.

As we all know, since March 2020 we have been all about “stay home, stay safe” and socially distancing. We have stayed away from our friends, refused to approach acquaintances, and spurned strangers. When Paul and I went for a long drive and ended up in the town where my old college roommate lives, I begged to stop to see her. But all we could do was stand on the porch and smile over our masks. We have learned to “meet” online—church is broadcast, book club is on Zoom, and work and school are also on a screen. It’s been OK. Not that great of a hardship, nothing like the Great Depression or World War II. And certainly better than actually catching Covid-19.

 

But then, in February, Paul and I had our vaccinations. A few weeks later, and we are clear. We can’t catch Covid, we can’t give you Covid. And, though it feels so strange, we are beginning to reach out to friends beyond our family.

 

I went for a walk. A neighbor I’ve known for 40 years was standing on her front lawn, an older woman, one who has been carefully isolating all these many months. Instead of just smiling and waving from a safe distance as I’ve done for a year, I stepped across her lawn and we visited, face to face. As I left, without thinking, I gave her a hug. Then I said, “Oh no! We’re hugging! Is this OK?” “Oh, my yes,” she said, “I’m vaccinated. You’re vaccinated. Let’s hug!”

 

Then, last week, things really got crazy. Tuesday night was the last night of the religion class I teach college students in our area. All through the school year, we have met on Zoom, making do with the tiny little squares that confine what we can see of each other. With many of us vaccinated, we decided we could meet together for our last class. We wore masks and were careful, but oh, how lovely it was to see all of them in person, to be able to see their whole selves, to see how tall they are, to see how they interact, to really share with each other who we are and what we feel. 

 

Next up was my book club. This club has been together—oh, close to 30 years. We have been through sickness, divorce, and death as well as marriages, graduate school, and retirement. Now we can add to our shared experiences a year of meeting solely on Zoom. It was OK, better than nothing, and did have the added benefit that club members who had moved could now join in. But last week, we met in person, all double vaccinated and clear. As we have for so many years, we could sit together in the same room. It was so much easier to discuss the book when we could read the full body language of those we were sharing with. It was wonderful to be able to reach out a hand to comfort a friend who is suffering. And, perhaps the best part, the part that just can’t happen online, was the way the meeting ended, breaking into conversations of twos and threes, then shifting to other groupings of twos and threes, in the foyer, on the steps, and in the street as we gathered by our cars. Some things just can’t be shared online.

 

Finally, we hosted a baby shower for my youngest daughter. Most of the guests were family, on both sides. But we did invite a few of Mary’s long-time friends. We dressed up and served fancy sandwiches on my best china. We played games and laughed and laughed. We opened presents and collectively marveled that in a few weeks a tiny little person would actually be filling out those tiny little clothes. 

 

There is something about physically gathering. Online, on a screen, we can share ideas and words and smiles—and that is good. But when we can actually come together, physical bodies in the same room, we share experience, we share life, we become one. It is good to gather together. I’m so thankful we can do it again.

 

The Absolute Best Part of a World-Wide Pandemic

I am sitting outside my 2-year-old granddaughter’s bedroom acting as her jailer. It is 1:30 PM, well into designated nap time, and we are determined that Lucia doesn’t stop napping. After all, we have a new baby arriving next month, and we will all need that rest time, even if Lucia doesn’t.

 

So, you may ask, how did a 70-year-old grandmother get to be in this position? 

 

[Excuse me a minute. Lucia just tried to break out again, slowly turning the doorknob, sneaking through the door silently. Then, when busted by Grandma, angelically explaining, “I wake! Time get up!” 

 

No.  Scooping her up, I sweetly explain “Time for sleeping.” And she is once again tuggled up under the covers.]

 

So, again, how did this happen? The answer is Covid. 

 

Over a year ago my daughter Mary and her husband Krystian called us up. Both were moving to remote work for their employment, so, they explained, “Why not come to Provo until we go back to normal? We never have enough vacation time to spend with family, so why not take advantage of this chance? We can work from your home as well as from ours. You can help with childcare and we will get to hang out with family after work.” They went on, “It will just be for a couple of weeks.”

 

We cheered! What a great idea! The best part of a world-wide pandemic.

 

And it really has been. The “couple of weeks” stretched on, as their work continued to require remote work, until here we are, over a year later. While I love having my grown-up kids nearby, there is nothing quite so wonderful as living with a 2-year-old. 

 

[Wait a minute. Do I hear movement behind the door? Ah yes. The handle turns and there is that sweet little pig-tailed head smiling up at me. “I hungy, Grandma?” So pathetic. “No, Sweetheart. Time to eat later. Now it is time to sleep.” Once more, scooped up, kissed, and snuggled, sung to, and tuggled in. We’ll see how long this lasts.]

 

Oh, but, here are the reasons I love having Lucia here:

 

1.     All my grandbabies have been born at a distance from where I lived. I would get to see them maybe two or three times a year, but never could see the day-by-day growth, never could have the daily bond with them. I’ve seen Lucia grow from an 18-month-old who could barely climb stairs and say some words, to a little chatterbox who drags around her little stool so she can climb up on anything and get into everything.

2.     I get to see Lucia first thing in the morning, when she is a little sleepy and cozy. Or sometimes she comes into my bedroom all excited for the day, “Need ‘nana, Grandma! C’mon!” Then she tugs me down the stairs to get breakfast.

3.     We get to listen to songs together. Every morning we say, “Alexa, play Super Simple Songs!” Then we sing along to “The Wheels on the Bus,” “Five Little Ducks Went Out to Play,” and, the current favorite, “Old McDonald Had a Farm.” I’ve never enjoyed doing housework more than when I am be-popping along to Lucia’s music, with Lucia by my side.

4.     Sometimes Lucia is the music master. She has a little story book that will play music when she presses a button. She will press “Hokey Pokey,” and we will put our right legs in, put our right legs out, and shake them all about. We do the hokey pokey, and laugh and giggle and laugh some more. I have to say, that’s what it’s all about.

5.     We have all the toys out that our children played with when they were little. Lucia carefully puts the old cylindrical Little People into their little cars and airplanes and flies them around on all sorts of adventures, just as her mother and her aunts and uncles did before her. It’s comforting to know that some things never change.

6.     We get to read stories together: old classics like Pokey Little Puppy and Home for a Bunny; and new-to-me classics like Ten Little Ladybugs and The Hug Machine. Nothing is better than having a small child on your lap intent on figuring out the story. And absolutely nothing is better than getting to do that every day.

7.     We get to go outside together. This little one sees. And because she sees, I do. Rocks that sparkle, flower petals, grass. The texture of tree bark, the taste of leaves, the movement of a small bug. 

8.     We can play at the park. Up the stairs and down the slide and in the swing. Chase the ducks and climb on the rocks and throw stuff in the water. Everything makes Lucia giggle, and I giggle too when I am with her.

 

Now, that’s not to say some things are not harder. She dumps out the blocks and all the toys every day and, though we sing “Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere,” this Grandma is the body that usually does most of the cleaning up. I have to do a little more planning to arrange for doing things like go for a walk, read a book, or take a shower. And sometimes, I have to sit outside a bedroom door and be the nap-nazi, forcing Lucia to stay in. 

 

[Here she is again, the sweet thing. No, my dear. You will be happier after your nap. Back under the covers you go with your Minnie Mouse and your binky.]

Here is the best part. I get to do all these things as a partner with my cute daughter and her husband, Lucia’s parents. I get to see what patient and good parents they are. I see them taking time to color with Lucia, to play with her, and to teach her. I see them never ever losing their tempers. I see the way Mary and Krystian work together to parent Lucia with intentionality and love. I see the way they both are always considerate of me, making sure they do not ask too much of me. I see the way they are always so grateful for any help I give.

 

And here is the absolute best part. In just a few weeks, we will have another little one in our home. Mary will give birth in just a few weeks. What a sweet blessing it will be to have a tiny little newborn in our home again!

 

Eventually, Mary and Krystian will indeed go home. As the Covid restrictions lift, they will need to return to face-to-face work and to their lives far away from us. 

 

[By the way, it’s been quite a while since the last attempted jail-break; maybe she is sleeping. Or maybe she is wreaking havoc, very quietly, in the bedroom.]

 

But, for now--oh, what a precious time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some Thoughts on Easter and General Conference

Though we've had some encouraging news on Covid-19, there is still plenty of bad news coming at us. Just today, there was an attempted attack on the nation’s capital, and in the last couple of weeks there were three different mass shootings. And all about us we see a highly divided people who feel contempt for those who disagree with them.  

 

We obviously need help. I believe that God still wants to provide us with the help we need. Just as the ancient apostle Peter received the vision to preach the gospel to all the world, I believe we have an apostle/prophet on the earth today who tells us God’s will, specifically, for this time. This Easter weekend, as we ponder the greatest gift of God--our Savior and his resurrection--also happens to be the time when inspired leaders of our church gather to teach us God’s will. I am excited

 

I’m excited to hear the counsel. Last October, on the eve of a nearly unprecedentedly divisive election, we were taught about unity and the need to love our enemies. After a summer of violent protests against racism, we were reminded that God is no respecter of persons, He loves all, and we must love all. There is no place for racism in the Gospel of Christ. When many were encouraging violence to meet their desires, both on the right and the left, we were taught that violence is not the way to bring about change. In a time when sweeping policy changes are considered as the only means to improving our society, we were taught that it is the small, individual choices that really change society and make that change sustainable.

 

Sometimes we don't see the relevance of counsel until later on. A couple of years ago in conference, our prophet announced changes that seemed unusual at the time. We would spend less time in formal church meetings, the youth program would be more centered on interactions with parents and family, and daily personal and family gospel study would be the center of it all. The Church was to be home-centered, with formal church programs merely supporting what was happening at home. This seemed a bit strange, but as we followed the guidance, we discovered the joy of personal and family study and worship. Then, the Covid-19 lockdown happened, and we realized we had been prophetically prepared for just that circumstance. Though we missed meeting with our congregations weekly, we knew we could worship and learn the gospel at home. Because of inspired counsel, we were prepared to thrive spiritually during lockdown.

 

I’m excited for conference because, sitting in front of my TV in my basement, notebook in hand, I feel a unity with members of my church all over the world. I know members are watching in Africa, South America, Asia, Europe, all over the world. Some have had to travel to find a place where they can stream the conference. Others have awakened early or stayed up late to hear the teachings. A small army of translators provide the messages in over 100 languages. But whatever the language, whatever the setting, the people are like me, eager to learn, eager to become better.

 

I’m excited especially because this year Conference coincides with Easter—providing an even more poignant opportunity to contemplate God’s great love for us. Christ suffered for our sins, died for us, was resurrected—all to make possible the eternal salvation of each person who has ever lived upon the planet. The messages we will hear this weekend teach us how we can follow Christ, make choices that will help us to become his true disciples. The messages teach me what I need to do better at, and they teach me what I am already doing pretty well. It’s a time to review, to recommit. It’s like the football coach’s talk at half-time: I leave the conference fired up to do better, to be better, to help others, to love more, to feel His love more. I’m excited for conference!