When the news broke of the first identified positive case in Missouri, I held my breath and I slid under the water in my bathtub. The one place where I always felt a sense of sanctuary suddenly felt foreign, as if the weight of what was about to happen changed the surroundings around me. When you’re under water and holding your breath, your senses become muffled, hearing is less and the sight right above the water is all your brain focuses on, and all your body feels is the temperature of the water, the crisp air hitting the skin that has surfaced. Time slows. And desperation sets within.
The desperation is what I felt most.
In the days that followed, I was clinging onto control, hoping the cases would stay at one or two, maybe a hand full, but would never come close to Boone County, to my business, to my life—but just as quickly as the news of one case broke, soon there were hundreds. Then there were deaths. And suddenly the bleach soaked rags I was cleaning with felt like betrayal between my fingers. The cans of lysol, the bottles of sanitizer, the spray bottles, the chemicals, the mops, they became teammates on a team I didn’t ask to be a part of in a war to save my business and to save my family. But mostly, they became the outward expression of my fear. Articles felt like enemies. The media and the news anchors feel like characters of horror films, unsure of the right direction out of the nightmare, confusing one another and making poor choices. No one tells you how to survive a pandemic, there’s no textbook, no right way, no answers, nothing.
And control became my best friend. In the middle of a pandemic, when you know there’s nothing solid to hold onto, you try to control everything. I at least do. I readjusted. I replanned. I rethought our purpose, and I tried to speak a different message. I tried to be peace in a chaotic scenario, in the middle of the pandemic. But then the stay at home order came into place for 30 days and the desperation was overwhelming, suffocating, silencing.
Years prior to this pandemic, on November 25th, 2015, I sat down with colleagues and professionals, and I talked about my desire to leave the field of social work all together - claiming that I wasn't fit for the work, for the passion, for the emotional investment. I talked about my mental and emotional health, and the toll that case studies on paper in front of me had taken on me, fearful that I would fall a part if I was faced with a real case study, a real person's story. One thing that stood out to me as I sat and heard and listened to their perspective was, "Your day today could impact someone else's later." This has been a daily, and consistent message that I have replayed in my mind for the last four and a half years since that meeting. The good, the bad, the seemingly insignificant days or moments or choices TODAY could be either directly or indirectly affecting someone else's days tomorrow. While I knew for years prior that I was important and wanted by my God, I left that meeting holding onto the idea that I held significance in the world. I believed that I could change the world if I really tried.
Years later, that promise was broken, that mindset destroyed, completely altered when I was asked to leave the career I had spent a good chunk of my adult life investing within, I truly believed that there was nothing left for me. If years prior I sat in a meeting and adults that I respected was telling me that I could make social work come alive and that I could change the world, to suddenly be asked to leave the field altogether... to desire to leave the field altogether... what had I just spent the last two years believing in? I thought about taking my own life, of ending the pain that I felt as I struggled with failure. How do I overcome that-- the place where emptiness and hurt blossom and the choice in front of you is to either overcome it or end it? I understand the hurt, and the grief, and the unimaginable pain that it takes to arrive at that thought. I really, really do.
And then most of you know the story. I went on to become a business owner, and have spent a huge majority of the last two and a half years trying to make a difference in the lives of kids and families, by using this platform to either bless others or to build friendships and share the love of Jesus. Years have passed since I was a rookie in this business field, and I have felt like my footing was somewhat stable, until the virus pandemic hit. I think I share in the same fears that people all over the world face, and I am no one different. I am afraid of losing everything I have been building. I am afraid of every choice I face TODAY, knowing that somewhere someway that single choice could be the downfall in someone else's story.
But I know the ONE who stands at tomorrow and I know the ONE who is in control.
A few years after the meeting in 2015 and after I left my job as a caseworker, on January 28th, 2019 a tiny girl moved into my home, into my life, and completely changed my world. She is altogether spunk and sass and wild and creative and extraordinary. She has made me want more for myself, and more for her, and more for my family. She has given me roots, given me purpose, and has given me much more than I could have ever given her. And whether she stays until tomorrow or forever, there is absolutely nothing temporary about my love for her, or temporary about the impact her tiny hands have had on my life. She is the absolute best part of me, even if she was not created by me.
But the greatest part about this story, is not the way she came to me or the brokenness of both of our stories, but it's the fact that at the exact same time I was finding a purpose within the world, she entered the world. On November 25th, 2015 she took her first breath. On November 25th, 2015, I dreamed an idea that embodied my drive to change the very same world she was now a part of, completely unaware of her existence or the role I would play in her life later. My choices that day has affected not only MY LIFE since, but also hers, and so many others, with such a sobering reality.
There’s just today, even in the middle of this pandemic, there's just today. Let it be positive.
And in the last month, the desperation to dig my way out and to keep my small business a float became a central focus. I would survive this. I would hold on tight to Jesus, my savior, and He would carry me through this, quickly and without pain. I would find a way. I would create a way if I had to. But I knew inside that I had what it takes, and nothing was going to stand in my way. Not even a virus.
And I cried for days. I cried out for God to physically lift me out of the chaos, to lift me out of the dysfunction, the pandemic, and to bring me through it untouched. But instead, He woke me up each morning and asked me to face new hurdles. He asked me to stretch myself and to become uncomfortable. He asked me to stop and to be still and to rest and to hope. He taught me to stop controlling and to just let go. He taught me to sit in the middle of the chaos and to find peace in His words and to find comfort in only Him. He has asked more of me and of my faith than I have imagined--and He continues to show me grace and mercy as I fail. He has continued to hold onto me, to gently push me forward, gently reminding me that my faith MUST be placed in HIM, and not in my business, not in Tiger Bounce, not in the government, not in the money or the bailout that may or may not come. I cannot serve two masters.
And today, He taught me that hope is born in this story when I put down the pen. When I close the computer. When I stop planning, stop trying, stop obsessing over the comeback. And today, He asked me to start living in the now, the present, and to hand over the cords of control. All of it, nothing held back, everything, because TODAY will affect TOMORROW.
If I had left the field of social work altogether when I sat in that meeting and shared my concerns, I would have never taken my first real adult job with the State of Missouri--and had I not taken that job, I would have never held cases, never met foster parents, never built the relationships I hold now with some of my most precious friends. I would have never been asked by a former foster parent on my caseload to watch a tiny girl that would one day walk into my life and into my home, and would never leave. Had I walked away from my calling to change the world, and left that meeting uninspired, never wanting to continue to preach love, then I would not have been the character in God's story to have the life that I do now.
On November 25th, 2015, I prayed a simple prayer and walked out of the meeting saying, "God, I hope you have a plan!" and I went on to live through the hurts, the pain, the grief, the joy, the love that the last four years have brought, knowing that someday, the entire picture will come into view and I will see the most beautiful masterpiece that God has promised me.
And until that day comes, my entire hope is in Him, and I will continue to live everyday knowing that I am known, and I am significant, and that there IS a place for me in not just the world, but in the story of God.
This is His story, even in the midst of this pandemic, and He has never stopped being in control.
