Friday stream of consciousness

It’s 9:46 am and the kids are doing their daily worksheets at the dining room table, surrounded by an assortment of pens and crayons. I am “working”—which, right now, looks like drinking the news from a firehose and taking occasional breaks to respond to an e-mail, look up new recipes on Pinterest I probably will not make, and online window shop for rugs I probably will not buy.

We’re falling into a routine. Our evolving schedule seems to change with the shifting weather. If the sun is out, we do recess every two hours. If not, I have to be more creative. A surprise to no one, mornings are easier than afternoons. The kids get up, eat breakfast while they read, do 30 minutes of Cosmic Kids Yoga, and then get ready for the day. They are still getting dressed (I am not), making their beds (I am not) and brushing their teeth (I am trying to remember). From 9-10am we do “homeschool” which I purposefully put quotes around because I am not sure if you can call one hour at the dining room table doing workbooks homeschool.

Alas, our school has said homeschooling is optional during this time and there will be nothing to turn in when it is over. 

I am taking them at their word. 

Instead, we are making a lot of art. Building a lot of legos. Going on a lot of walks. I am having a hard time working, focusing, writing. Every time I open my e-mail, I wonder if I actually need to respond to anything. What will happen if I don’t? Nothing. Does anyone expect a response right now? No. There is a sudden lack of urgency for anything I am doing. Mostly, I check in. Text a friend, text another, post in a group. How is everyone doing today? How are you coping? How can I pray for you? Asking the question and making space for the answers has become the most important part of my job. Honestly, it feels like the only part of my job that matters right now.

Yesterday I scrubbed the kitchen sink harder than I ever have. I wore gloves, used bleach, the whole thing, a tiny moment to be in control of something when everything else is falling apart. 

Prior to the world catching fire, I was a horrible sleeper. Most nights I toss and turn, unable to shut off my brain, making lists in my head of everything I need to do the following day, week, month. I keep an endless to-do list in my mind at all times, repeating items throughout the day so I won’t forget, won’t drop the ball, won’t disappoint anyone. At night, while my family sleeps, I run through the list again. Don’t forget to respond to that e-mail. Don’t forget to pay that invoice. Don’t forget to finish the taxes, take that picture, edit that thing, upload that episode, write that post. I go and go and go until I get to the bottom of the list, and then I stare at the ceiling and wonder what time it is while I listen to my husband breathe. Then, I pray. I go through another list, a longer list, everyone I can think of who is going through a hard time, who might need help, healing, protection, grace.

This probably comes as no surprise, but I’m still not sleeping well. Only now, I am no longer running through mental to-do lists at 3am. I am not thinking of e-mails or bills or work. I am only thinking of people. People I know, people I don’t know, people I kind of know. People who have lost their jobs. Mothers who are getting ready to have babies, mothers who just brought babies home. I’m thinking of the women who had to cancel fertility treatments, after already waiting so long. I’m thinking of wives in abusive relationships trapped in their homes, kids hiding from parents screaming at each other, missing their safe haven of school. Cancer patients. The elderly. Those already struggling with mental health. Brides canceling their weddings, high school seniors not graduating. The refugees. The homeless. The small business owners.

I’m thinking of my husband, who already struggles with anxiety and started a brand new job the day everything shut down. I’m thinking of my middle child, who has a history of asthma. What if this comes for us? 

I go back to the verse giving me comfort, one I stumbled across last week.

“He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” - Colossians 1:17

I say it again, as a prayer. 

You are before all things, and in You all things hold together.

I say it again.

You are before all things. 
In You all things hold together.

I close my eyes, take a breath, and go through my prayer list again while the moon shines through our bedroom window.